A Daughter of the Dunedain
by Waxing Slain
Summary: Aelswyth, daughter of Aeldir and Amarien.  Elf-friend and Dunedain.  As the Enemy's powers grow, she finds herself more deeply involved in the events of Third Age...  More so than she would like.
1. Chapter 1

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **

We all realize how pointless this disclaimer is, right? No one's going to read it anyway. Well, here goes. I, the mostly unwilling authoress, do not own anything at all except possibly Aelswyth, a pack of orange slices(those little, yummy, sugary candies, and an empty cup of coffee. All other characters, creations, creatures, etc., etc., are the legal property of whoever is in charge of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's estate? Also, I got most of my Sindarin from and whatever I could remember. And this is gonna take from both the movies and the books.

**A.N.: **

I hope Aelswyth doesn't come across as a _Mary-Sue! Ewwww! _In saying that, I also realize that the term itself is now highly relative. Anyway, this first few chapters are gonna be a long ones. It takes place (mostly) in the 17 years following Mr. Bilbo Baggins's eleventy-first birthday. Also, I lack a beta so if maybe you could point out mistakes I've made, typographical or otherwise, I would greatly appreciate it! OH! And, uhm, review? Please?

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><p><strong>Quotage: Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned~William Congreve.<strong>

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><p>Some Years Ago<p>

_The night, it seemed, was not going to end anytime soon. Not for the man and certainly not for his woman who was cursing his very name. He could not blame her, of course, for childbirth was long and painful. She was well within her rights to throttle him within an inch of his life. _And she just might yet.,_ he mused as she crushed his hand in hers. _

_Just then a cry broke the night. It was hearty wail and his heart leapt. Surely, it was son. Surely, it was a boy his wife had birthed. _

_"_Aeldir, tell me, Aeldir, is he well?" _Even his wife seemed to suspect it was a son but one glance told Aeldir otherwise._

_"_Aye, my wife. Our _daughter _is well and alive."

"A daughter?" _And her voice trembled when she spoke. _

_"_That she is, my dear, and lovely as her mother._" His wife, who did not feel particularly lovely at the time, laughed warmly as she ran a hand through her husband's greying hair. _

_"_Oh, you always could charm me, Aeldir."

"It is why you love me.," _he stated softly as he held his wailing daughter in his arms. Aeldir passed his daughter to his wife and enjoyed this one calm, blessed moment. For moments like this were so few nowadays. _

_"_A! Aeldir, she is lovely!" _There was a little pause. "_Aelswyth shall be her name and she will be just as great as her father."

_Aeldir did not think himself great in any moment of his life before his daughter had been born but here was this little thing that depended on him entirely, that needed him more than the breath of life. Now, he was truly great and all longing for a son had been dimmed though not all together forgotten. Perhaps, she could have a little brother one day... _

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><p><em>Aelswyth, seventeen now and still an only child, sparred with one of the other boys in the village. She was straining hard against him but fighting valiantly all the same. He was not much older than her but clearly he was blessed with a sword when it was in his hands. When she had been bested not twice but three times, she relented and let the wooden sword fall to the ground in embellished mock defeat. <em>

_"_Tiro!.,_" she called, pointing toward the horizon._

_She saw something, someone, running toward them. He wore the rusty green and brown garb of her father and for a moment she thought him to be her father. As he came closer however, she realized that this man was not her father and she looked to her mother for some command._

_"_Sedho_, Aelswyth!," snapped her mother as the grim-looking man approached. "_Your name and your purpose, stranger!_" Aelswyth had never before heard her mother use so harsh a tone or take such a defensive stance._

_"I am a Ranger of Arnor. I owe allegiance to the seven stars and seven stones." _

_"And one white tree.," finished her mother, visibly relaxing, though she continued to wring her hands in nervous spite. _

_"_I am Strider, son of Arathorn, and I come with news from the West_." Aelswyth regarded him with a pair of wide, admiring eyes. _Son of Arathorn. _Even she knew what that meant and she was young yet. He seemed to be a giant, towering head and shoulders above the meandering folk around him. His eyes were sharp and grey. His hair was shaggy and dark and his face was pale and stern. "_I seek the family of one Aeldir, son of Hurdir_."_

_"_Then, you have found us_.," her mother stated, motioning to her and Aelswyth who had moved a few steps closer to her mother. "_What news do you bring of my husband and why could he not bring this news himself?"

_"_I am sorry but Aeldir was slain in battle_. _Orcs ambushed the company he was guiding through _Nindalf_."

_Her mother clutched her heart with one hand and with another held onto Aelswyth's shoulder as though to steady herself. Aelswyth glanced up into his eyes, now full of so much compassion and swallowed hard as she looked away. Her mother's body shook against her as she fell to the ground, still clasping Aelswyth's shoulder, and a strangled sob broke the silence. _

_"_Who will take his place_?," inquired a somber Aelswyth, disentangling herself from her still weeping mother. She repeated herself when no one answered. She thought that perhaps no one had heard._

_"_We heard you, _gwennig.," said the son of Arathorn in a low, melodious voice. Despair tinged with bemusement flashed in his eyes. "_I would not have you fill his place."

"He had no sons; it is my place, my... birth-right?"

_Her mother's wordless sob interrupted her. She knelt down to whisper words of comfort in her mother's ear. The sobbing gave way to whimpering which gave way to silence. She did not stand but looked up to him with a gaze steeled and hard as stone. _

_"_I am obligated, _gwador vell._"

"Do what you must, _gwennig_." _And with that Strider, son of Arathorn, departed in utter silence. _

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><p>Now, outside the Prancing Pony, his words still rang clearly through her head. In fact, she often found herself thinking of the man who had brought her such grim tidings and perhaps that was why. Often the things she remembered were not things most would wish to recall. The faces of the dead. Their names... Shaking her head of dark hair, she cleared her mind of such foolish thoughts and headed inside. The warmth was stifling at first but then somehow comforting as well. It had been so long since she'd been warm that she hardly knew what it felt like anymore. And the people were absolutely mad. She snorted with discontent when she realized more than half of them were drunk. Oh, she'd give anything for some good elven wine though and a hunk of their bread.<p>

Rubbing her palms together, she shouldered her way to a table in a dark corner. Just where _he_ would expect her to be.

"_I hate wizards._," she growled in Sindarin. _The whole lot of 'em. _

"My dear, whatever did we do to you?," came a soft, commanding voice from ahead of her. Her sharp, grey eyes shot upward and rested on Gandalf the Grey. He was a curious man, though not a _Man_. He was disguised, she knew, in the sagging, sinking skin of an old man but in his eyes she saw a fire burning there that could not be quenched. An uncontrollable and artless shiver raced down her spine.

"Nothing at all, Mister Gandalf. Nothing at all."

She looked at him expectantly. Already she was impatient and awaited his explanation but he took his time of course. Asked all sorts of arbitrary questions. Ones that did not matter, ones she did not care about or care for. She answered them, naturally but with lessening patience and when the wizard pointed this out with a certain glimmer in his eyes, she could not resist the urge to sneer.

"_What_ do you want?" He laughed though there was little mirth to it. She remembered very clearly something her father had told her once. _Never trifle in the business of wizards. They are subtle and quick to anger... I should've listened to him more when he was alive., _she realized sadly.

"I? I want to have a nice meal and a little chat with an old friend."

Aelswyth laughed, delight dancing in her grey eyes. "Surely you don't mean _me_?"

"_You_? No. No. Not quite." He seemed appropriately ashamed at this but she knew well enough that he wasn't. No, the _Ithryn _didn't get that way. They hardly ever got any way at all unless it was useful to them. "But I do have a task for you-"

"-_Naturally_-," she muttered, biting her lower lip.

"What was that, my dear? You'll have to speak up. I'm old and, as such, hard of hearing. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, a task. I need you to go to Minas Tirith, my dear girl-"

"Whatever for?" A sudden and unfamiliar fear gripped her. _Minas Tirith? _She wondered what he was thinking. _Minas... Tirith... What is there for me but heartache and head pains? My mother, my poor mother..._ After her father had been slain, her mother returned to her own people in Gondor but it did her little good. Aeldir's death had, in a word, killed two birds with one stone. His life and his wife's mind...

"Patience, little one, patience."

So, she bit her tongue and nodded slowly.

"I need you to watch-"

"-Spy, you mean?-"

"Aye, spy, as it were." He chuckled warmly and patted her arm with much affection. "I suspect Denethor of using a _palantír _for some, ah, less than admirable mission of a sort."

"And I am to do what precisely? And to what purpose" She arched a cool, dark brow and her mouth became very stern.

"Because I ask it of you."

"That is fair enough, I suppose but wha-"

"There you go again. You always did go off half-cocked . _If _you would've waited a moment more I perhaps would have finished." He eyed her curiously for a moment longer than he should have. Before his stare could probe into her soul, she looked away very quickly. "_If _would've been more patien you would've heard me say how there is, I fear, little hope for Denethor but his sons, I suspect, will fare better with a little help, of course."

"And _I _am to provide this help?"

"You and only you, I fear. I know none fiercer nor more admired by the people of Gondor."

"Through no effort of mine. My father was there for whatever reason and-"

But Gandalf held up a lined hand and she fell silent instantly. "I know why, little one, but you _could _use his name. You _could _perhaps mention it, couldn't you?"

"Of course, Mister Gandalf.," sighed Aelswyth, suddenly resigned to her fate, it seemed.

"There's a good girl-"

"-I'm no girl!," she snapped, cross.

The wizard smiled kindly. "It's a long journey and you might want to get started on it soon. Perhaps now?"

"I can take a hint well enough.," she growled as she rose out of her chair.

"Not quick enough; here's my man now."

Aelswyth, sighing again, quickly took her leave of the Prancing Pony but saw nothing of Gandalf's man.

"Who was that?," wondered a soft and familiar voice from the other side of the Pony. Aelswyth stopped dead in her tracks. So... familiar. So... And yet she was at a loss. For magic beyond her, she could not hear the reply.

Rather, she rushed out into the cold, harsh day. First, she was off to the stables where her great, black gelding Modig awaited her. He huffed when he saw her and gave his hoof a stamp.

"_You're in a right mood_.," she grumbled in Sindarin as she saddled Modig up. He stamped his hoof again. Rolling her eyes, she mounted up and spurred him on through the gates of Bree.

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><p>She had several options as she saw it. There was the South Road, or the Greenway as it was sometimes called. It presented little trouble aside from an elongated journey but a direct route. There was little shelter along that rode though. Just open Wilds and <em>Tyrn Gorthad <em>but she wouldn't be going through those. Past them, yes, but to go through them that would be foolish and she sought not to be dismembered this night.

Taking the East Road would take her straight into Rivendell but past the Trollshaws. _Are there even any trolls left in there?_, she mused as Modig cantered along the worn road. She should've asked Gandalf, she realized and cursed her impatience. He would've know. _Of course, he's a wizard. They know _everything. Besides, she had more friends in Rivendell and there was Glorfindel. _And he didn't say _Now_? He didn't, did he?_

_There will be time for merry-making and liquor later. Now I must make haste.,_ she decided resolutely.

She opted for the Southern Road. It would take her right up to the gates of the White City after a few long months of travel.

But night was falling fast now so she dismounted carefully and lead Modig off the road a ways before tying him down. His black eyes rolled and he pawed the dirt.

"First sign of trouble," she began to explain to the much annoyed buckskin gelding, "and you'll spook. Then, I'll have to run 'round the whole of this world looking for you and I can't have that."

She wrapped her dark cloak tight about her, threw the cowl up. She lay down and promptly fell asleep.

She wasn't asleep for very long or at least it didn't feel like very long before the sun was warming her face. She rose quickly and climbed into the saddle. With a low sigh from both ranger and gelding, they began the journey in earnest.

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><p>The end of the month brought her to the end of the Greenway. Here the Wilds of the Dunland began. Here the soaring hills and gaping vallies began. Here her heart was at peace though not quite as much as she would like.<p>

There was a persistent nagging at the back of her head for four days. It was the feeling of being watched. Modig seemed to feel it too for even at the end of the fourth day, he was snorting and pawing the soft ground beneath his hooves.

"_Stille nú...Stille nú..._" She spoke softly to him in his language. In the language of Rohan. _The horse-language._, she mused gently. It was comforting for him though strange to her but she knew enough of it to calm him when she had to. He whinnied and pulled against his harness. "_Man le trasta?_" What troubles you? Now, it was her turn for comfort.

"_Mae govannen, pinig_.," came a soft, deep voice from behind her. Well-met, little one. She whirled around, sword drawn faster than a snake could strike or an Eagle take flight. The man who spoke held up his hands, arms out-stretched. "_I've no weapons. _"

"_Iston le?_" Do I know you? Her question was followed by rich, deep laughter.

"_Iston i nîf dhîn..." _I know your face. He spoke in voice much like his laughter. It was low and soft and lovely. Then looking to his face, she saw familiar features there. His eyes were sharp and grey. His hair was flecked with grey though still very dark and shaggy. He seemed like a giant to her. Inexplicably tall.

"_I am a Ranger of Arnor. I owe allegiance to the seven stars and seven stones._" Her voice was high and sharp when she spoke but held little strain.

"_And one white tree." _And so the oath was completed.

_"And one white tree.,"_ she agreed with a grimace. "_I am Aelswyth, daughter of Aeldir, son of Hurdir. What business do you seek with me?_" She sheathed her sword but kept her guard up. For there were many things about in this land. Some of them not so hospitable and if any of them were around she wasn't going to be caught napping, as the saying goes. She looked him over once again and a brief smile touched her face. She knew him now to be Strider, Arathorn's son. The very same that had brought her news of her father's demise...

"_Pedithanc hi sui vellyn?"_ May we speak now as freinds? Again, he spoke in a lovely, soft voice. He measured her up in one fell glance. Formidable, he realized, and in such a small package. _Big things often times come in little packages.,_ he reminded himself, thinking of Gollum, whom was now foremost in his mind.

"_D'a mellon_.," You are with a friend. She murmured with a barely perceptible nod.

"_He sends you away as well, does he not?_"

"_Aye, that he does._" There could be no denying who the _he _was. Gandalf, of course. The meddler. The schemer. "_To Gondor, I'll go even if I do not wish to._"

"_What is in Gondor that keeps you from it?_"

She frowned, uncomfortable with such a question. Uncomfortable that someone she did not know had asked. Ill at ease that she was more than willing to answer him. "_It was in Gondor that father and mother met thier fate and I do not wish to meet mine there._" Only half the truth for the other half she did not herself know. She was, though she would not yet admit it(not even to herself) that she was quite frightened by what the future held. _And what it holds, _she told herself, _I do not know_.

"_I see... Gwennig, do not fear. Your fate will not be theirs._"

"_Only Illuvatar knows._.. _De vellon nîn an-uir. Faro vae._" Forever you are my friend. Good hunting.

"_Faro vae.,_" he replied quietly as she rode on down the Southern Road. He watched Aeldir's daughter ride for quite some time. Untill he could no longer see her. He remember both father and grandfather well and she was much alike both of them whether or not she knew it.

_What awaits her in Gondor I do not know but she will not fail him._

Now, he had his own prey to chase. _Faro vae _was right for it seemed that that was exactly what he was doing.

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><p>At the Gap of Rohan, she was ambushed in the night by nine Dunlendings. Modig, of course, was spooked. However kingly his name was, he was not. She was thrown from him in a violent, wrenching motion. She rolled away from the frightened gelding and covered her neck and head. The Dunlendings were caught unawares by the stricken gelding as he ran. He took two of the Dunlendings down even as he ran. <em>He's good for something even when he's not. <em>She pushed herself up and drew her sword. _Narnimwen. _No songs had yet to be sung of her blade but it had a pointy end and she knew where to stick it.

They were rough, large, hairy beasts, these Dunlendings. They spoke in unintelligible grunts and growls. Snarls and howls. She hummed a few notes before she drew her sword high and charged. The seemed to converge on her _en masse_ but she had been in her fair share of skirmishes. She let her instincts take over.

_Parry. Thrust. Parry. Thrust. Lunge forward._

_Parry. Parry. Thrust. Lunge. Slash. Slash. _

She felt a rending pain in her sword arm. She stifled her cry and pressed on.

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><p>Covered in blood- some of it hers, most of it theirs. She stepped back and took stock of the situation.<p>

1. Modig had run off. That meant three things really: she could search for him, she could continue on foot, or he would come back. The latter two were more likely than the first

2. She was wounded. Her left arm was cradled in her right. It burned and she had little to use as bandages.

3. She was hungry.

4. Night was falling.

5. She wouldn't be safe here once it did.

_What else,_ she wondered, fleetingly cynical, _could go wrong?_ As soon as she thought it, she really wished she hadn't. Bad things always seemed to happen after she asked herself that.

She sat down among the waxing slain and soft, blood-soaked grass. She removed her cloak and whipped her dagger out. She cut strips from the worn, dusty fabric and tied them about her arm in a determined lack of silence.

"_The Road goes ever, ever on_

_Down from the door where it began._

_Now far ahead the road has gone,_

_And I must follow, if I can,_

_Pursuing it with eager feet,_

_Until it joins some larger way_

_Where many paths and errands meet._

_And whither then? I cannot say."_

A curious, little Hobbit had gladly sung that for her when she was last traveling through the Shire. Hobbits are, by nature, rather shy of the Big Folk, as they call the races of Man and Elf, but not this one. He was just walking along the same path as she and had nattered on for a while about the weather and a few other inane things before bursting into that little bit.

She became quite fond of the little bugger.

With a small sigh escaping from between her lips, she rose and began her journey anew.

She spent her night literaly up a tree. Getting up there had been laborious and painful. Getting to sleep had been much the same. Getting down was also something quite difficult as her arm was still quite useless to her. But, aha! There was Modig waiting at the base of the tree and looking appropriately abashed as he munched away on the lush grass.

"_At least now I don't have to walk the rest of the way...,_" she growled in Rhorric as she threw herself into the saddle and rode on toward Edoras.

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><p>On the SindarinRhorric:

Tiro!-Look!

Sedho-Quiet.

Gwador vell-beloved brother

gwennig-maiden

Ithryn, Ithron-Sindarin term for wizard(s)

Stille nú- taken from what Aragorn says to Brego. Means "Quiet" or "Still now" I believe.

Man le trasta- What troubles you?

Mae govannen, pinig- well-met, little one.

Iston le?- do I know you?

Iston i nîf dhîn- I know your face

Pedithanc hi sui vellyn- may we speak as friends now?

D'a mellon- you are with a friend

De vellon nîn an-uir. Faro vae.- Forever you are my friend. Good hunting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **

We all realize how pointless this disclaimer is, right? No one's going to read it anyway. Well, here goes. I, the authoress, do not own anything at all except possibly Aelswyth, a pack of orange slices(those little, yummy, sugary candies, and an empty cup of coffee. All other characters, creations, creatures, etc., etc., are the legal property of whoever is in charge of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's estate? Also, I got most of my Sindarin from and what I could remember. And this is gonna take from both the movies and the books.

**A.N.: **

Sill lacking a beta so if maybe you could point out mistakes I've made, typographical or otherwise, I would greatly appreciate it! OH! And, uhm, review? Please?

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><p>Quotage~"The face cannot stay faithful to the body,<p>

the face disturbs the body, it is undivine," Wisława Szymborska

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><p>Edoras was far behind her now or so it seemed that way. Her wound had been cleaned and properly bandaged though that did not stifle the stinging. She realized it was very likely going to be quite troublesome should she run into more discord on the road. She prayed silently that she did not. All along the south the <em>Ered Nimrais (The White Mountains) <em>towered above her and beyond those mountains lay the whole of Gondor. Their sheer height threatened to overwhelm her. Their height. Their glory. Their might. She surprised a chill as she glanced to her other side. Far off that away was her father's resting place for no one would dare to rob those marshes of another body. She grimaced before urging Modig into a gallop.

The mountains passed by her in a blur. The desolate, boggy wastes seemed to creep ever closer as Minas Tirith eclipsed the east and even farther off she saw the grim, black shadow of Mordor.

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><p>She ambled to the Great Gates of Minas Tirith before a fortnight was out but they were closed to her. Closed to the world, it seemed. She moved a little closer, holding her injured arm against her. It worried her slightly that it had not full healed but she pushed to the very back of her thoughts. It could be worried about later. For now, she had the Gates to contend with. She frowned, curious and confused. <em>How am I to get inside? It cannot be as simple as knocking... <em>Indeed it was not and Aelswyth could see this Gate was designed with a siege in mind. It was meant to keep the good and the bad but that was rarely the case. As it was now, Aelswyth thought she was rather good but couldn't seem to remember how to get in.

"_A! Rhaich! Sevin ú-estel!" '_Oh, curses! I have no hope!' She growled deep in her throat as she approached the Gate on foot. In spite of herself, she banged loudly on the doors and regretted it instant;y. It was almost as hard as _mithril _and sent a wave of pain through her arm.

"Password!," shouted an irate voice in Westron from somewhere above.

"..._Password?... What?_" She shook her head slightly before turning her gaze toward the direction of the speaker. "Uhm, may I have a hint? Please?"

"A hint? A HINT! 'Ey, this li'l lass wants a hint!" She heard boisterous laughter from high above.

"I'm not little.," she grumbled though the men high above did not hear her.

"A HINT!" It was different voice. Deeper this one but she could still hear the traces of boyhood.

"_Caro!_" 'Do it!'

"Oh ho! What's this, then? Fancy that, lads. We've got ourselves an Elf-maiden!"

"I'm not an Elf! I'm a Ranger of the North and if you don't give me a hint to the damn password, you'll-"

"I'll what?" Obviously, this man was unfamiliar with Rangers. Or, at the very least, _her _variety of Rangers. They had a natural tendancy to take things too seriously and were usually very cross.

But Aelswyth had already nocked her arrows and fired off two successive shots. They missed naturally as she couldn't see the guards but she was certain she was rather close. She heard faint sounds of scrambling and a few shouts, loud but incomprehensible.

"Can I get that hint now?," she querried, grinning madly.

"What has roots that nobody sees, and is taller than trees. Up, up it goes, and yet it never grows. What is it?" It was another voice again. Still male but it held a certain amiable softness.

"Hmm..." She thought for a moment before bursting out into looud laughter. "A Mountain! It's a bloody mountain!" How dense did they suspect her of being? She was not a child and here they were at a mountain. Wasn't Minas Tirith carved from the mountain itself?

She heard favored whispers, hot and heavy above her.

"We're changing the password after this-"

"Oh, sod off!-"

"We are and I don't care if _he _knows we do it-"

"We're not changing the pa-"

Then, slowly the Great Gates swung open and she was allowed inside the walls of Minas Tirith. Still grinning like a jackass eating briars, she not-so triumphantly marched into the city.

"_You've no horse, fair stranger?_" She recognized the voice as one of the men (Mentally, she snorted. How old was she now anyways? 43? 44? Old enough, she reckoned, to be this lad's mother!) from the Tower. _Well, at least, he's got manners enough to speak Sindarin. _

"_No. He... I rode him too hard and he was too old..._" She felt a little guilt. Modig had not been her first horse but he had been the first horse she had so completely bonded with. She would miss him. She left him, with out a saddle and halter, in an open field in Rohan before she left. She felt it was a fitting form of retirement for her old boy. "_I was wondering, lad, if you could help me find somebody thought?_"

"_That depends on the one you wish to find._"

"_I seek the Steward of Gondor."_

_"Ah... I can take you to him._"

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><p>"<em>This way, fair stranger-<em>"

"_I eneth nîn Aelswyth. A chi?" _'I am called Aelswyth. And you are?'

"_Im Faramir eston._" 'I call myself Faramir.' And so here was a half of her quarry. _And the other?,_ she pondered as the young man continued to lead her up the winding streets of Minas Tirith. "_I must confess, my lady, we've exhausted most of my Sindarin. Do you know Westron?_"

"As well as anyone else does, I suppo-"

"-My lady, you are injured!-"

"Oh? That? _'Tis but a scratch_, _hîr vell_." Beloved prince. A prince in all but blood, she assumed. Of course, she bore no grudge against the boy but the time of the Stewards were ending. _It has to_...

"Please, do not call me that... It is not necessary My name will do just nicely."

She smiled softly as he lead her on. He was good lad; she could see that.

"Why do seek an audience with my father?" The question took her by surprise. _Why _was quite correct. She couldn't very well tell the Steward that Gandalf the Grey had sent her here. Gandalf, as it was, did not have the best reputation around Gondor and, well, she had only just gotten here and didn't much feel like being turned away.

"Private matters, lad."

"Haha! I'm nearly twenty, my lady."

"And I am nearly forty-three."

"Then, that means-" He faltered, friendly eyes suddenly downcast. She vaguely thought she heard the word _Dunedain_.

"Aye, that means, well, what ever it was you said."

"Uhm, ah, here-here we are, my lady."

She resisted rolling her eyes and thanked him kindly.

* * *

><p>Denethor the Second looked all too normal as he sat at the lower throne of Gondor. He looked dignifed and refined. He looked entirely surly and silent. He glanced up at her. Away from his papers.<p>

"What do you want?" His voice was gruff and harsh sounding. He turned his attention back to his work.

"I seek employ among your Guard-"

"What ever for?" He turned a piercing gaze back to her. She moved a few steps closer, a stern expression crossing across her features.

"My people are broken, my Lord. Shattered and there is nothing left to us. We've no land to call our home and no home to call our land.," Which was something of a lie. Arnor was far, far to the North and her heart ached to see it once more. It was shattered and it's people were scattered, indeed.

"Your people?"

"Aye, my Lord. The _Dunedain._"

"The _Dunedain?_" And his voice sounded as a low gasp. "You are not welcome here! Go! Leave my sight!"

"Then, you do not know who I am... my Lord."

He rose to his feet so very slowly. As though the very movement itself was too much to bear. Then, he advanced in long slow, strides untill he stood not but a meter away from her. His hair was long and graying. His face was unkind though careworn but his eyes were still sharp as a blade.

"And you would be who, then?"

"I am Aelswyth, daughter of Aeldir-"

"Aeldir? I... I did not know he had a child... Hm, your father served me well. I can expect the same from you?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Very well, _Aeldirsdóttir_. You are welcome into my service. My eldest will see you properly outfitted." He motioned to a tall, broad-chested man who flashed Aelswyth a cocky grin. Once they had left the Steward of Gondor to his paper work, the Man of the South's grin took on a familiar sort of shyness. Yes, they were brothers; it was quite noticable now but the razor-sharp eyes belonged to his father.

"I would be pleased, my lady, to _see _you properly attired."

"..." Aelswyth had never blushed so fiercely in all her life. Certainly, she was... _experienced,_ as it were, but... His rich laughter filled her ears. It sounded musical. She turned to face but found words has failed her. "For once, I am at loss for words.," she commented dryly. "I know more than a few people and at least one wizard who would gladly buy you drink."

"Mmmm? Perhaps you would be so kind as to do it in their stead?"

"Perhaps.," she laughed, glancing over at him. He was a handsome creature, this Man. Tall. Keen, twinkling eyes with a warrior's bearing.

"Here we are, my lady."

The Quartermaster of Gondor was an old, bent stick of a man but on his hands were the scars and calluses of a great warrior. He sized her up in one cursory glance.

"You'll survive, I suppose, though I don't know if we have anything that'll quite fit across your bre-"

"Mind your tongue, Eboric.," warned Denethor's eldest son from the doorway. His eyes blazed rather fiercely and his tone was quite sharp. Aelswyth frowned noticeably; as if she needed some impetuous little man to defend her honor. _Well, if it makes him feel better..._

"Well, in any case, I do not think, m'Lord, that it presents a problem.," continued the ancient Quartermaster as he glanced about her brashly. She frowned, even deeper yet. Oh, if she kept on like that, she was sure her face would stick that way

"_Rhachon le! Dôl lost lîn_!" 'I curse you! Your head is empty!' But it was low and angry. Completely under her breath. She doubted that foul, loathsome man even heard her.

Boromir seemed to have heard her though for her chuckled softly but kept his silence.

"See her properly outfitted, Eboric, and curb yourself in front of the lady."

"Of course, m'Lord. I-I meant no offense. I was just..." But he hobbled off, muttering to himself and when he came back he was still mumbling. With a friendly smile, Aelswyth took the proffered Gondorian garb and waited patiently for the men to leave or, at the very least, look away.

"Well?," she prompted, a cool, dark brow arching.

"Ah, it seems we have forgotten ourselves... Eboric, come?"

"Of course, m'Lord."

She changed quickly and found the suit to be too heavy to her liking. She was used to leather and cloth, not chain mail and as such, she found even walking to be difficult and uncomfortable. It would take some getting used to.

"You look uncomfortable.," Boromir pointed out dryly.

"Chain mail.," she muttered darkly as she readjusted the tabard of Gondor. She looked down and counted the stars. "_Seven."_ She wasn't even aware she had spoken the word.

"Hm?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." She paused breifly, looked away. "What are my duties, sir?" _I owe allegiance to the seven star and seven stones and I must remember that. _

"That is yet to be decided. For now, you'll be my squire."

"_Velui._" Lovely.

And so began Aelswyth's long days in Gondor.

* * *

><p>She would rise early, well before the sun was out, and set to her day immediately. It usually involved playing nursemaid to two grown men(in other words, Boromir and Faramir. Although, Faramir was usually quiet and quite content to be left alone). She did not enjoy this and told both of them quite frequently. They laughed at her.<p>

Aside from that, she was privy to most things that others were not. If Boromir was needed by his father, she was there, slinky as a snake and listening to every word. If and when Boromir rode off into battle, she rode off with him. She was at Boromir's side every waking moment. Literally, his walking shadow. He did not enjoy this and told her quite frequently. She laughed at him.

Then on a day she had mostly to herself, she stumbled onto the _palantír_. Accidentally, of course. It wasn't as though she meant to be poking about in the tower. Well, she did mean to be doing that. She glanced about the room and found that it was empty. That was good. She crept inside and approached the dais. Her heart was hammering away in her chest and pounding inside her skull. It was here, of course, and it had been for many centuries but there was no way of knowing if it had been used by Denethor at all. She stared into the dark, swirling stone for a long time before she reached out with shaking hands.

..._Cold. Cold and ice everywhere. And darkness. And cold. She was shivering violently because it was so cold. And the darkness was suffocating._

She wrenched her hands away and found she was still shivering. She was compelled to reach for it but resisted that urge. Instead, she ran from it and knew she had to speak to Gandalf which meant he'd be showing up any moment. Wizard have a funny way of knowing when and where they are needed and by whom.

She took to pacing the halls untill Boromir found her.

"You're... Aelswyth, you're shaking."

She nodded her head as he took her frozen hands into his.

"You're frozen!"

"And you-you ha-ha-have a t-t-tendancy to-to st-st-state to obvious.," she chattered, grinning in spite of herself.

"What troubles you to leave you so?"

"I-I-I cannot s-s-say."

"Will not say, I suspect."

"S-s-something along th-th-those l-l-l-lines. Damn it! I'm-I'm fr-fr-freezing."

"Here, come with me."

He took her into his chambers and stoked a fire to life. He remove her gauntlets and chain sabatons before wrapping her tightly in a cover. She shuddered as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the warmth of his body.

"It was s-s-so c-c-c-c...cold."

"What was?" His patience was wearing; she answered questions like an Elf. Usually, with another question or she danced about them, touching the subject though not quite reaching it.

"He watches with it but there is no way to tell who is watching him! I s-saw ice everywhere. It was one of the Lost Ones, I saw! It must have been. _Amon Sûl!"_

"You speak in riddles-"

"-Nay! I speak perfect sense! I must speak with Gandalf-"

"-That old crackpot? Ha! His word is nothing here."

"And it should not be! He is far wiser than any man on your father's council. Not as though he follows his council... and I'm still so cold."

He held her closer and tighter. Aelswyth felt safer than she ever had before when she was warm in his arms.

"You still have not answered me. What is it that you saw to make you shake as though nearly frozen?"

"I-I-I... " And in slow, broken sentences she told him. From her meeting with Gandalf at the Prancing Pony in Bree ten years ago right up untill an hour ago when she had laid her hands on the _palantír. _

"... And there is no telling who is seeing into Minas Tirith. It works both ways, those Stones..."

"But it-"

"Does nothing besides put your people in jepordy... I did not believe it at first when Gandalf sent me here. I could not. Several of the Seeing-stones were lost. I thought this one among them. Ha! I had _hoped _this one was among them but I was not certain and now I know and he cannot continue to use it!" Her shoulders heaved against him and she was still shaking. "It requires great amounts of willpower and it is putting your father's reason into question."

"Calm yourself, Aelswyth. I have seen you take down trolls and orcs untold and this rock has you trembling like a leaf."

"It is dangerous! That is why I carry on so. You cannot even fathom the powers of these Seeing-stones."

"I remember my history lessons well enough. I know what they can do."

"Then, speak to your father! Convince him of the dangers of the _palantír_."

"I cannot."

"Or will not?"

"We are just echoing quarrels, you and I... Nay, you have misunderstood me. I _knew _he was-"

"Ah, I see... Then, you are both fools." She removed herself from his arms and sat down by the fire. "He cannot continue to use; it will kill him slowly. Eventually, I mean, he will lose his mind and then..." She watched the fire dance and felt the future quiver, just barely out of reach. "Then, the Line of Stewards will be ended and the King shall return." She did not know why she had spoken so but so it goes that she did. With a still glacial hand, she covered her mouth. "I-I am sorry; I should not have spoken thus."

"Gondor needs no King.," But there was a desperation in his voice she had not heard before. He came to sit down by her and ran a hand across her face through her hair. "Perhaps..." he sighed. "Perhaps you are right."

"Perhaps.," she murmured as she leaned against him, still shaking.

He turned to her, a very serious expression on his face. He leaned down and captured her lips with his. It was shy and tender and she found some comfort in his arms.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N: <strong>I thought this was as good a place as any to end the chapter. I think I could've gone on forever. I've got Gandalf coming up in the next one and then we'll get into _The Fellowship of the Ring. _Sorry it took so long! xD. Anyway, I want to thank Naurwe for her review and for her advice. And the rest of y'all should review too because I like reviews. They make me happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **

I, the authoress, do not own anything at all except possibly Aelswyth, a pack of orange slices(those little, yummy, sugary candies, and an empty cup of coffee. All other characters, creations, creatures, etc., etc., are the legal property of whoever is in charge of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's estate? Also, I got most of my Sindarin from and what I could remember. And this is gonna take from both the movies and the books.

**A.N.: **

Yeah, Naurwe, I don't know _why _in the hell people end up making Boromir the bad guy. He's really supposed to be the tragic, desperate hero of Middle-Earth and in a lot of-I'm not saying all of them- Fics! he ends up having like some personality disorder that turns him into a complete misogynistic bastard. Anway, thanks again to Naurwe for reviewing; it's very encouraging and everyone else should review as well. And this going to be another long-ass chapter. I don't know why; I just never find a good place to end it untill I get like seven pages in. Besides, the Osgiliath scene is my favorite one so I'm glad I'm including it. Yay!

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><p>Quotage~"Someone's gonna hang if I don't get my coffee." Luigi Largo. <em>Repo the Genetic Opera<em>. Fantastic film. _Blade_ meets _Rocky Horror Picture Show_.

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><p>Exactly as Aelswyth had predicted, Gandalf made his presence rather widely known. Wizard were, after all, strange and fickle beings. Gandalf was chief among them in this aspect. Today however would be very busy and very important. First to find Aelswyth. He did not even have to hazard a guess as to where she'd be. Word traveled much faster than anyone seemed to think. Well, at least, it traveled much faster when it was coming to Gandalf.<p>

He found her at a little-known pub with a rather well-known man.

"Here'sh that trink I owe you.," Gandalf heard her slur. Even in such darkness and her in such a state, her face still looked pale and stern.

"Here, here.," said the man, Boromir, as he drained his pint. Either no one had noticed he was their Steward's son or no one cared; it was often hard to tell.

Aelswyth's eyes snapped to Gandalf and she giggled loudly. _Drunk_ as well then? This would be a great entertainment for him.

"I...I tol'shim you'd shhhhowup shoon." She regarded him with an unsteady gaze. "I tol' 'im... You've a shtrange wayof doin' tha'. Shhhhowingup, I meannn."

"Foolish woman.," he muttered darkly. "You'll be no use to me this night. To bed with you." _Both of you. _And the strange, unbidden image of their coupling invaded his mind. He couldn't figure out why either. He saw them through a mess of flickering flames and blood. He saw swords flash and a shield was raised by a strong arm. He vaguely heard crying and low, heavy whispers.

"I'm so afr-" And it was Aelswyth that spoke this, though not the one he was looking at. Her voice cut off rather dramatically and he saw her pale, stern face frozen through the flickering flames. Her empty, grey eyes were trained on him.

Now, a pair of not-so-empty, grey eyes flashed on him.

He heard her speak but said nothing. He eyed her curiously for a moment before turning around and leaving her to her drink and her man. Both of which she seemed to be enjoying quite a bit.

* * *

><p>Aelswyth woke up with a brain that battered around in her skull somewhere right around her eyes. Her stomach was in inexplicable knots and she was sure she was going to retch in the near future.<p>

"I am never going to drink with you again...," she heard Boromir vow firmly from a tangled web of covers and pillows. She made to disentangle herself from their mess of arms and legs but he entwined his arms around her waist, holding onto her tightly. "No. Stay." She smiled and rested her head on his chest for but a moment.

"Gandalf has come...At least, I think so?" Last night was pretty much a fuzzy image.

"You think so?"

"D'you remember last night? Ha! I don't either. Besides... Wizards are strange and fickle creatures; as such, I don't much like trafficking with their kind but it's Gandalf and he'll want to know what's happened."

"A few more moments then?" He looked so much like a child then with his eyes bright and his grin coy. He had seen something he had wanted and he was going to get it.

"No, no, no, I cannot keep him waiting much longer. I fear to test his patience."

"The Great and Mighty Aelswyth? Afraid of an old man?"

"Oh, darling, you've no idea to what this old man is capable of doing."

She kissed his nose quite comically before gathering yesterday's clothes and dressing quickly. She gave him a last longing look as he was sprawled out on his bed-wearing a rather cheeky grin-before turning on her heels and running in search of Gandalf.

She found him soon enough. He was sitting down, looking very sagely as he stroked his hoary beard. He gave her a sharp look that plainly said _I-Know-What-You've-Been-Up-To-And-You-Ought-To-Be-Ashamed._

"My dear girl, whatever have you been getting yourself into here?" She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand to silence her. "Not here. There's no telling who might be listening. Walk with me. Don't talk. Not yet."

They walked well a ways into the city before he permitted her to take a breath.

"What do you know?" But his voice was a hushed whisper, barely spoken yet hanging there in the air all the same.

"He's using one. I... I used it as well. It was so strange, so smooth to the touch. I think... I think- I think I connected with one of the Lost Ones... It was so cold, Gandalf..."

"Aye... But did you _see _him use one?"

"Ah, no... No. Not as such but, uh... Well, not as such." She looked away, afraid to meet his penetrating stare and afraid rightly so.

"You weary me, girl.," he sighed deeply. "Terribly so some days. Hm. Most days anyway but it is no matter; I know it is here and in all likelihood, Denethor is using the blasted thing. I only wish I knew why."

"Oh, ho! What's this? Do _I _know something _you _do not?"

"Do not be insufferable, little one. Even I cannot know everything."

"He..." she dropped her voice and looked about her in a distrustful manner. "He's using it to spy into Mordor, Gandalf. Minas Tirith has a certain tactical location, does it not? We can practically see the enemy from here."

"We, my dear?" His voice held a note of suggestion that Aelswyth had not longed to hear. She'd never spent much time in one place and never quite felt like she had much of a home. _Then I came here..._ Yes, then she came here and met a brave, brash man. _That's how these things always go... _She felt like laughing. Instead, she covered her amusement up with false indignation.

"Well, you know what I meant. Them. They... _They_ can see the enemy from here."

"Mmmm... I-"

"_Iston le?_" Do I know you? It was voice that turned her blood cold. Her sharp gaze fell onto a rag and a hank of hair for a woman. The voice belonged to withered, old woman with a distant, grey eyes and nearly white hair but it was the face that caused a shiver to run down her spine.

"_Naneth._" Mother. But her voice was barely above a whisper. The woman took no notice and, in fact, seemed to be asking everyone that question. Aelswyth watched with a frozen heart as her mother hobbled away and into the crowd. Despite herself, Aelswyth jumped up and excused herself quietly.

"_Naneth!_," she called after the woman. "_Naneth?"_

She heard the woman faintly and pushed on through the press of the crowd.

"_Naneth_?," she said softly when she finally caught up to the emaciated woman.

_"Iston le?"_

_"Yes, Naneth. Do you not know me? It is I, Aelswyth. It is me, your daughter."_

"Aels...wyth?"

"_Yes, Naneth. Aelswyth."_

_"_My daughter... is dead."

"_No. No. I am alive! Naneth?_"

The woman, whoever she was, hobbled off again and Aelswyth let her go. She was beginning to think she was going quite mad. The woman, whoever she was, was not Amarien. Amarien was dead as far as Aelswyth was concerned. She turned around sharply and nearly crashed into Boromir. From the looks of it, he'd been following her.

"Who was that?" Concern laced his voice and danced in his eyes.

"Oh, ah, someone I thought I knew... Once." She shook her head the way a dog might shake off water. "You should not have followed me. Your father's men are everywhere," she muttered, her eyes uncompromising as she gazed at him. His face broke into an infectious smile and she could not hold a grudge.

"I _am _my father's man.," he said with a laugh as he threw his arm around her shoulders. "Let them see us together, then! It matters not any longer. Osgiliath calls us and we'll be away 'ere the break of day."

"Osgiliath will take years to reclaim-" But he interupted her with an ardent kiss.

"Yes! And we will have our peace on the front lines!" He kissed her more gently this time and was happy to see her eyes temper some. "You cannot deny me, my darling, and one day, _he _won't be able to either."

"You are his First-Born; he can deny you nothing."

"He denies me you every moment of every day. He gives to me these... these lesser women and all I ask of him is you."

"..." Long they stood in a deep silence so profound neither wished to disturb it. It was Aelswyth who spoke first. "Very well. Tomorrow we make for Osgiliath."

* * *

><p>Aelswyth lay in silence through the night. She could not bring herself to sleep. Too much, it seemed, was going through her mind. Osgiliath loomed before her like... like something that loomed. There weren't quite fully formed words yet. There were feeling a-plenty but words seemed to fail her once more.<p>

She was frightened. Terribly so and did not know why. She had seen her fare share of violence and bloodshed. Why would this be any different?

She was sick at her stomach with this fear. Her head was spinning with it. She nearly couldn't breath. Oh, and she was so tired but she couldn't seem to relax enough to fall asleep. She twisted in the sheets, causing Boromir to stir and wake.

"You are troubled." It was no question he asked her. An observation and a demand rolled together in one.

"Aye but go back to bed, love. It is not important."

"And you are a dreadful liar"

"That may be so-"

"-_Is _so-"

"... I am so afraid. What if...What if something happens to you? Or... Or to me? What if we...die?"

"So, we die.," he answered honestly. Númenórean blood flowed through both their veins and she had recently become accustomed to the idea of both of them living another century. "It is the Gift of Men that we die; should we not go to sweet death willingly?"

"Truer words have never been spoken."

He kissed her head before pulling her into a tight, warm embrace.

"Sleep well, my love.," he murmmured into her hair. "We leave at dawn."

* * *

><p>Ten years now stood between Aelswyth and her last night in Minas Tirith. Many battles were strewn behind her like the bodies of those she had felled. She watched with triumph flashing in her eyes as the host chanted his name and Boromir ascened nothing more than a pile of rubble. He planted Gondor's flag into it and unsheathed his shinning sword.<p>

"This city was once the jewel of our Kingdom!," his voice rang out, clear and intense, above the cheering of the crowd. "A place of light and beauty and music. And so it shall be once more!" He thrust sword into the air, victory eminating from him. "Let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the Land of my people fall into enemy hands! The city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor! For Gondor!"

"For Gondor!," the host reverberated and Aelswyth with them.

"For Gondor!"

"For Gondor!" All together now. He descended his makeshift podium and made his way to her. He grabbed her and pulled her blood-stained helm off. He let it drop with a _clang_ to the stoney, grey ground beneath their feet as he pulled her into a violent embrace, kissing her.

"He cannot deny you now..." she whispered in his ear. "Here comes your brother now." They embraced as brothers should- with much laughter and joy.

"Good speech. Nice and short.," Faramir said, looking rather serious but his eyes were twinkling.

"All the more time to drink!" Boromir and his little brother laughed in unison, embracing again. "Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!" The crowd all around him cheered. Aelswyth could not hide her smile as he swaggered over to her and threw an arm around her shoulder. Faramir came along with them naturally. Aelswyth knew he thought highly of Boromir and to see them together... Aelswyth nearly wanted a pair of boys herself one day.

"Remember today, little brother. Today life is good."

She saw Faramir's gaze change drastically.

"What?," asked Boromir with a laugh.

"He's here.," he stated grimly. Aelswyth turned to see the Steward of Gondor making his way through his men, clearly looking for his son.

"Oh, a moment of peace, can he not give us that?"

"Where is Gondor's Finest? Where is my First-Born?"

"Father!"

If Faramir was phased by his father's indifference, he didn't show it.

"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handed." the Steward said proudly after embracing his son. No mention of how she herself had nearly died for his First-Born son on the battlefield. Twice. He was foolhardy in battle and that made him brave but it made him reckless. She had desprately wished him to slow down but instead he had charged ahead and she had gone with him naturally.

"They exaggerate! The victory belongs to Faramir also." Aelswyth's heart gave a little wrench. The brotherly bonds were hard-pressed to be match and harder pressed yet to break. Especially among those two Men of Gondor.

"But for Faramir this city would still be standing. Were you not entrusted to protect it?"

"I would have done but our numbers were too few." Indeed. What Denethor gave his Second Son was paltry in comparison to the host that city now harbored.

"All too few. You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim! Always you cast a poor reflection on me."

"That is not my intent." Faramir looked so much like a little lost boy standing there.

"You give him no credit and yet he tries to do you well.," growled Boromir before he turned away from his father and stalked off. Aelswyth wished desperately to follow but the Steward's keen eyes fell to her next. Clearly, it was not her who was going to be following Boromir. Then, the Steward himself went after his First-Born and Aelswyth followed him as quiet as a mouse.

"He loves you, Father." There was a desolate sort of sadness in his voice that his father would not catch.

"Do not trouble me with Faramir; I know his uses and they are few." There a short pause, riddled with anxiety. "We have more pressing matters to speak of. Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He will not say why but I have guessed it's purpose. It is rumoured the weapon of the enemy has been found."

"...The One Ring... Isdildur's Bane..."

All Aelswyth could think was _No, no, no_.

"And it's fallen into the hands of the Elves. Everyone will try to claim it. Men, Dwarves, Wizards... We cannot let that happen... This thing must come to Gondor."

"...Gondor." Longing in his voice.

"It is dangerous I know. Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser men but you. You are strong and our need is great! It is our blood that is being spilled. Our people that are dying. Sauron is binding his time; he is massing fresh armies. He will return! And when he does we will be powerless to stop him. You. Must. Go. Bring me back this mighty gift."

"...No." She heard the distinct sound of armor and mail _chnk_ing together. "My place is here with my people. Not in Rivendell!" Aelswyth moved away before Boromir could spy her, well, spying.

"Would you deny your own father?" Now everyone was privy to their otherwise cloistered conversation.

"If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead.," offered Faramir in what was a last ditch effort to please his father.

"You? Oh, I see you. A chance for Faramir, Captian of Gondor, to show his quality? I think not. I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me."

* * *

><p>"I can go with you?," Aelswyth offered as she began to saddle his horse. "I know the way better than any and-"<p>

"How much did you hear?," he asked with a knowing smile.

"You know me too well, it seems."

His silence was little more than a prompt.

"Oh, about all of it."

"All of it?"

"Aye. All of it and I could not rest knowing you'd gone and done something stupid without me there to tell you not to."

"You are always with me."

"That's very sweet, darling, but you are avoiding my question."

"...It will be dangerous..."

"A weak argument. I just slew a few dozen orcs and uruk-hai and you're worried about a trip to Imladris? Besides, I am Elf-friend which is more than you or your father can say."

"..."

"So, yes, then?"

He nodded, unable to find a way to tell her no.

She mounted her horse and waited for patiently at the gates of Osgiliath.

When he came racing out, she spurred her horse into pace beside his.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Next up: Rivendell, finally! Woo, yeah! And I've written two out of a billion possible endings for this Fic O' Mine already and I'm kinda curious as to which one I'll be going with.

1) They both die at Amon Hen. The End.

2)The "Happily Ever After" Option. They both live and have lots of babies.

3)Aelswyth dies at Amon Hen. Boromir is pissed. Kills a lot of mean-looking Orcs and Uruk-hai.

4) The sort of converse of Option 3: Boromir still dies at Amon Hen. Only Aelswyth is super pissed and goes on the rampage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **

Do I have to keep doing this shtick? Of course I don't own anything and I'll be borrowing from Tolkien this fine chapter. It's his "Seek for the Sword that was broken" and the last stanza of "The Fall of Gil-Galad(my favorite, that one is) so I really just sort of have to bow to the Prof on that.

_/bows I'm a worm! A worm! A GROVELLING WORM! Hehe...Okay, I'm done now._

**A.N.:**

...Y'all know the drill by now. Anyway, this is going to be another long one. I can feel it before I even get started. This goes through the 110 days of their journey to Imladris so yeah longness... Anyway, Naurwe, thanks for reviewing again! Everyone else should review as well; hell, I don't even care what language it's in! _Komm doch bitte? Por favor? _Okay, we've exhausted my use of foriegn languages... ^_^

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><p>Quotage~"I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave." Jareth, the Goblin King. <em>Labyrinth<em>. Well, I had to include it at some point, no?

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><p>Night hung heavily upon the land and the stars shone bright and silver-cold upon them. Aelswyth could just barely make out the outline of Boromir and his horse ahead of her.<p>

"If we do not stop soon, the horses will be no more use to us.," she called ahead to him.

"We must press on!," he countered with some amount of desperation in his deep voice.

"We can continue at first light! We will be going nowhere quickly without these two and you have exhausted yourself already!" It had been a little over a day and he already seemed bent on wearing them all down to the bone. "_Man le trasta?_" What troubles you?

"A dream..." But his voice was barely above a whisper and she scarcely though she heard him speak at all. "In that dream, I saw the Eastern Sky grow dim and dark and treacherous. I heard thunder rolling, far off yet the storm seemed to be upon me already. But in the West... Ha! Your Western Lands!...But in the West, I heard a voice crying out, cold and clear as the stars above us."

"And what did it say to you?" By this time, they had both dismounted and Aelswyth led their horses- old friends, they seemed to be, from Rohan-off the Road and Boromir followed them reluctantly.

"_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand_."

Again, he spoke so softly that Aelswyth didn't know if he had really spoken at all.

"Well, I know of the Sword which your dreams speaks of.," Aelswyth said after a long moment of quiet when not even the crickets dared to chirp nor the birds to sing their Nighsongs. "_Narsil_ so forged by the Dwarf smith-"

"-Is there any other kind?," she heard him mutter, though of Dwarf or smith she did not know.

"Telchar. The very same who crafted my own _Narnimwen _though long years after _Narsil_." Here, she paused and reflected a bit. "_Narnimwen._ The Lady of White-Fire. Of the Moon. No songs have yet to be sung of her glory but the life this sword has lived and has taken..." She frowned, ever deeper than before. "I do not like this dream, love. Not one bit. It makes me uneasy."

"Aye, me as well..."

"Then, let us rest and we will take our Road back up in the morn."

Yet neither of them seemed to rest. Least of all Aelswyth who had many growing concerns.

* * *

><p>Edoras, little more than a barn , was well within their sights. No more than a day's ride really but he seemed to want to reach it before nightfall. They had both become uneasy during the long nights of Rohan. Whether it was because they were slowly leaving behind everything familiar to them or perhaps because the nights themselves somehow seemed crueler and colder now, Aelswyth did not know and could not say. She also could not shake the feeling of being watched though she did not wish to trouble Boromir with her feelings.<p>

"We're almost there...," he assured her softly from ahead and they rode on into Edoras. Meduseld looked golden and glorious even in the pale and silver light of the waxing moon.

"It...looks... " But words did not easily come to her this late and she did not want to elaborate. Rather she gave him a very pointed look as they rode on into what was Rohan's only real city. To her, it looked nothing quite like it had nearly seventeen years ago when she first came through here. It seemed darker though that could've been because it was night. It looked as though a heaviness hung about it and Aelswyth, for some reason, did not wish to pass the night there.

"We'll have to give up our weapons at the doors.," she stated suddenly, much to her own ire. "Oh, why did I say that?" She herself did not know but she could tell things had changed much since she was last here.

"I do not know but I wish you hadn't... I will not-"

"-Then, we will not be allowed in... I think."

When they came to the doors, it was exactly how Aelswyth had predicted. Háma was the name of the Doorward and he was a nice enough gent, just doing his job and all.

"On whose order?," Boromir questioned, sounding every bit incorrigible.

"By Order of Gríma Wormtongue.," Háma replied hastily enough.

"And-"

But by this time Aelswyth had already handed over her small arsenal. _Narnimwen _was perhaps chief among them. Then it was her curved twin dirks. A small parry knife and where she had kept that one hidden, both men would've greatly liked to know. Then, of course, was her mostly empty quiver and bow. A versatile warrior, indeed, though she did not much like relying on her skill as an archer. She was smiling benignly as she stripped Boromir of his own armaments. They left the besotted Doorwarden standing there awkwardly with what was plenty for three or four men alone.

"A little overzealous, don't you think?," Boromir questioned softly as they were enveloped by the warmth of Meduseld though it did not seem to fully reach either of them.

"Of course not. You have said it yourself." She rose up fully, stuck her chest out, and spoke in a gross approximation of a deep voice. "The Road to Rivendell is dangerous." He kissed her nose with great affection and laughed softly.

"I must speak with Théoden.," he said, all laughter gone from his voice though it hung in his eyes.

"What am I to do, then? Guard the horses?," she snorted, her discontent showing clearly on her face.

"Naturally. Smile, my love; you are in Meduseld where the drink flows freely and the tales of great battles are revisited. I shan't be gone long."

* * *

><p>"<em>But long ago he rode away<em>

_And where he dwelleth none can say_

_For into darkness fell his star_

_In Mordor where the Shadows are!," _finished one man with a mass of matted, black hair and beard so thick it covered most of his face. A pair of amber eyes flashed sharp and bright out through the tangles.

"That's an Elvish ballad, this is!," one of his mates- a scrawny thing, too!-called out, looking exasperated. "You always-" But he cut off unexpectedly and Aelswyth regarded him with her usual stern expression.

A wizened figure with a pale, wise face and sharp, heavily-lidded eyes came over to Aelswyth as she sat conversing with several men of the Mark. His long, pale tongue flicked across his lips every few moments.

"May I help you, sire?," she asked once the men of the Mark around her had suddenly become quite scarce.

"I think I can be helping you, daughter of Aeldir." His voice was smooth but his forked tongue flicked endlessly across his pale lips.

"How do you know me?" Aelswyth rose swiftly but then remembered she had no weapons to use and sat back down, slightly more deflated.

"All in Rohan know of your exploits, daughter of Aeldir." He smiled it what was probably meant to warm and friendly but instead it sent a cascade of shivers down her spine. His smiled faltered at her shudder then altogether disappeared.

"What business do you have with me then?"

"No business to speak of.," he said slowly with a particular lilt to his voice that she didn't like very much at all. His hand, much like his tongue, flicked outward and rested briefly on her abdomen. She jerked backward involuntarily. She felt an unspeakable wrench in her gut when he touched her. There was a vile repulsiveness in this man and she liked it not.

"Then, do not bother me, sire, for I've no wish to traffic with you."

"Does he know you carry his son's _bastard_? Perhaps someone ought to tell him..." But the little man did not wait for any sort of reply and left Aelswyth sitting there looking dumbfounded. She looked down and pressed a hand to flat abdomen. She had been speculating since they left Osgiliath that she carried a child but could not be sure and did not wish to trouble Boromir with her folly.

She thought several things at the same time. _NO!,_ being among them. _YES!,_ was also being among her thoughts. And lastly her mind turned Denethor. This was Rohan, after all; he had no power here but that thought alone did little to quell her fears. He was a powerful man still. _He is no king_., she told herself, face hot with fear. _Least of all mine..._

And bastard? She though not. They were as bonded as any married folk were. More so in some ways though they did not entirely have the right papers or what ever other nonsense Law required. She did not know the Laws of Gondor like she knew the Laws of her own people but among the Dúnedain, marriage worked in much the same way as it did among the Elves. It was the act itself that was sacred, that was held above else. Even the blessing of the bride's mother and the groom's father.

* * *

><p>When Boromir came upon her, she had not moved nor said a word to any soul. He looked grim and tired but so did she.<p>

"Now, it is you who is troubled, I see.," he murmured taking up a seat beside her.

"Not troubled... Not in so many words...," she sighed, leaning against his broad shoulder. A look of concern crossed his face but was swiftly replaced by one sheer determination.

"We cannot remain here; something is not right. Shh, I will tell you once we are out of Edoras but for now we must keep quiet."

Aelswyth made for the Doorwarden while Boromir gathered their horses.

* * *

><p>"Then, Sauron's arm must be long indeed if he has influence here.," muttered Aelswyth only a few moments after Boromir had told her of his encounter with Théoden.<p>

"Sauron's arm _is _long indeed.," he corrected in much the same quiet manner. They rode in silence with only the stars twinkling as cold as distant embers above them to light their Road but both knew these ways well.

"We'll come to the Gap of Rohan ere long; we'll have to take a wide breadth from Isengard though. I was attacked the last time I passed that way and thought not to do it again."

"Aelswyth of the Iron Will shying away from battle? I do not believe it!" But there was nothing but mirth gleaming in his eyes and he wore a small smile on his face.

"Believe it if you must but we've other things to worry about now."

"We do?"

"Aye, that we do. I am... I have conceived a child, Boromir. Your child, if I'm to be precise."

"Then, you should return to Minas Tir-"

"-No, I shall continue on this Road... with my Husband."

His brow furrowed deeply and he appeared to want to ask a very important question.

"You've taken no other woman these last fifteen years or so?"

"Only you!"

"And I you... I care little for Gondorian Laws and this will not be binding when we return but out here it is." She dismounted and bade him do the same. She took his hands in hers and clasped them more tightly than she ever had. She chose the Elven-tongue because it was careful and intimate and comfortable for her. "_Sevig i veleth nîn. Annon gur nîn angin._" 'You have my love. I give you my heart.' He knew the Elven-tongue well enough to understand her words and was glad his father had pushed him to learn it. Though it was a High-language for High Matters and this one was not High as such. "_Do I have your Love?_"

"_For an eternity._"

"_Do you give me your Heart?_"

"Rip it from my chest, if you must, but yes, yes, you have it! It is yours!," he whispered fiercely in Westron as he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly there.

"Then we are wed, _bennig_." She leaned in and kissed him briefly before remounting her horse. "Come, we can make it to the Gap before tomorrow is out if we pace ourselves. I'll not walk the rest of the way on foot!"

"Yes, for I would carry you!"

"You damn well better had...," she said with a laugh as they spurred thier horses ever onward.

* * *

><p>They trekked lightly through the White Mountains though Isengard was still within their sights. It did not go unnoticed by Aelswyth that every so often Boromir would gaze with longing at the mountains. She knew though that it was not the mountains that held him so. On the other side of the range sat Gondor, his home. His Lands and his people were there and so also was he. She too seemed to gaze at something in the distance though it was not Gondor that she longed for. No, she pined daily for Imladris. For the Elven-fair faces of her long displaced cousins. For merriment and music and rest -if she so desired. All of these things which were present and so much more in the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond.<p>

When they came to Tharbad, dismay weighed heavily on them both. The Road had been long enough already and would harder still.

"_Gwathir_...," she hissed for she knew this place by it's old name and did not care for it.

"There is a bridge somewhere-"

"Fallen to pieces, love... Ages and ages ago. Before I was born anyway..."

"Mm, we will see."

Much as she had predicted, the bridge was in decay but it did create a sort of ford that was crossable

"I... don't like the look of it.,"Aelswyth said when her horse shied away from the watery and ruined causeway.

"Nor do I but it is our only Path.," Boromir said after awhile. "So, we cross it."

"So, we cross it...," she agreed with a solemn bow of her head. "We'll have to tread carefully for fear one false step may whisk both or either of us away and out to the Sea and I've no wish to meet my Maker, as it goes."

Indeed the Way was hard and their horses were none too pleased when the water began to rise around their hooves. Indeed, Aelswyth was none too pleased when she felt her courser began to prance nervously along the fractured ford. She cursed softly under her breath and babbled soft, soothing words into his ear but to little avail. He whinnied sharply and reared back. As she slipped from her saddle, she cried out in frustration and fear. Her world expanded and exploded, white and fierce, behind her eyeballs as she hit the remains of the bridge.

Vaguely, she thought she heard Boromir calling her name. Then, she felt the waters, harsh and cold, wrap around her and she lost all consciousness.

**A.N.:**

Ha! Cliffhanger! The suspense should be killing you right about now :p Sorry, I had to stop it somewhere or it really would go on forever and I reckoned this was as good a place any!


	5. Chapter 5

**A Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: **

If I owned it or made any money off of this, I'd be rich but I don't and I'm not so I'm poor. Also, Joss is Boss but that's not really the point...

**A.N.:**

Sorry it took so long to get this up. I started it, didn't like it, scrapped it, and started it again... And I did that whole process twice as well. I'm still not feeling too good about this chapter; it just don't sit right with me but here it is.

* * *

><p>Quotage~"Love me little, love me long Is the burden of my song." A poem by an anonymous writer.

* * *

><p><strong>Last Time In A Daughter of the Dunedain:<strong>

_As she slipped from her saddle, she cried out in frustration and fear. Her world expanded and exploded, white and fierce, behind her eyeballs as she hit the remains of the bridge. _

_Vaguely, she thought she heard Boromir calling her name. Then, she felt the waters, harsh and cold, wrap around her and she lost all consciousness._

She was walking down a narrow, straight Path. It was worn down now by the steady drum of many feet but there seemed not a soul in sight. Aelswyth walked along with bare feet. It was not a hard way but neither was it soft. She took a few steps into the grass and heard just the faintest sounds of boisterous laughter. It was many voices rising up together in joy. They seemed familiar to her and she smiled brightly as she meandered farther off her Path and into a open field. It was wide this field but mostly empty. The grass however was soft and cool against her weary feet. In the center there was a man- _Boromir!_, for she could spot him anywhere- and three beautiful children. They were the source of the laughter and she felt her heart ache for them if for no other reason than the fact that she knew it could never be.

"Welcome home, my wife! You have been away from us for far too long."

"I have?" Even she could hear the quiver in her voice.

"Aye, you have and we're all very pleased to see you home." He laughed gently and pulled her into his arms. "The boys have missed their mother and Mírien is still too young to notice it when you leave but she has missed you all the same, I'm sure..."

_This is what you could have.,_ a small voice said to her. _Her _voice said to her. _This is what you want. This is what you want..._ And it had fallen so quiet and thier four faces had turned to the West and there was pale fire in the sky the likes of which she had never seen before. From far away, she heard sad voices as they rose up in an Elven hymn and the sound of braying horses along with the distinct clang of metal. She did not know why but she was terrified beyond all words.

* * *

><p>Aelswyth awoke with a start. Her keen, grey eyes snapped open and she was immediately blinded by the bright light of day. When she tried to sit up, she let out a hiss as a wave pain was sent through out her body. Tender, loving hands pushed her back down but the face blotted out by an unbearable sort of brightness.<p>

"I thought you'd never wake...," said Boromir in his very recognizable voice. "You were right though; we lost the damned horses."

"Oh, my head is pounding worse than... I don't even know at this point... Help me sit, would you?" She reached for and grabbed his arm as fiercely as ever, her head spinning as he eased her up. She adjusted swiftly to the bright, warm light of day and was pleased to see they had left Tharbad behind them. Well behind them. Slowly, realization dawned on her. "You... you carried me? All this way?"

"I am fairly sure I said I would. Mmmm, perhaps I did not." He jested it but it did little to make her smile. "We have dallied too long this day. Are you well enough to walk or should I carry you again?" Her face lost some of it's sternness as it broke into a genial and genuine smile.

"I think I can manage...," she muttered as they set out on their proper Path again.

She was hurting something terrible and had been the last few days but she would not tell him that. He was a man driven, that was clear enough, and she was just as determined as he to reach Imladris. And they were close! They were so close she could see it far better than he! Light and airy like all things Elven-fair. Glowing golden and white in the mid-day light. It was just as she last remembered it even at this distance.

* * *

><p>"I... I have...to ... to sit down now.," she said, breathless and shaking, as Boromir patiently led her off the Path and helped her slip to her back. A spasm of agony shot through her lower body and a thick, warmness seeped between her thighs. She did not need to look down to know what was happening. Deep in her heart of hearts, she knew what had happened. She knew the child was gone and that her dream was no more than a walking shadow. She moaned in her agony and lamented her loss. "He's gone..." And she whimpered, feeling again like the girl she had once been before her father had died. So lost and lonely and terrified. She clung to Boromir's tunic like she'd never held onto him before. She had to hold on to something or she thought she would just slip into the sky, her head was spinning so bad. When she finally looked to him, there were tears in her eyes and her vision was cloudy but she was sure she could see them in his eyes too.<p>

"I'm sorry...," she sobbed relentlessly, her chest heaving against him, as he held her tightly in his arms. "I should have gone back to Minas Tirith. I shouldn't have come..."

"Sh... No, no, no... I'd have you with me always. Always... Sh." And he prattled on and smoothed her dark hair down until her crying ceased and they had both fallen silent.

"We need to keep going. We can reach Imladris before the week is out if we-"

"Rest.," he interrupted quite firmly.

"There is not enough time for rest." She needed to focus; she needed to forget. She needed to keep on going. Oh, have mercy, she wanted to forget.

Much to his chagrin, she urged them on through the night and through most of the morning. Eventually, he just stopped and sat down off the Path a ways, back against a mighty oak.

"Aelswyth?," he called sharply but his voice was still gentle and loving. She halted and turned. Her stern face was shadowed by her thick, dark hair and so he could not read the expression there. "Come. Sit. Rest." Of course, she would argue and she did.

"We need to keep going..." But the exhaustion in her voice was plain enough and he motioned her over. Slowly, with her head hung as though defeated, she went to him and fell into his arms, restless. "There is no rest for weary, my da' would say. Nor for the wicked, if you're my mother..."

"You've parents?"

"Everyone has them...," she murmured solemnly. "Even me. We're not dwarves, us Men of the West. We don't just grow out from the ground. Or maybe we do. I've a hard time telling. It is so much a part of us. That Home We Lost..." And looked off into the distance, seeing past Imladris. Seeing whatever was left of the North.

"You never speak of them..."

She shrugged noncommittally. "I don't guess I do... Hmmm..."

* * *

><p>Aelswyth hummed that little Hobbit Walking Song as they neared Imladris.<p>

"What is that infernal song?," Boromir querried, eyes sharp like knives. Apparently, he didn't like it very much at all.

"Would you prefer something else? I know a few good bawdy limericks from Gondor, if it so pleases you." She laughed and it was good to see her shine again.

"Not if this one suits you.," he said, soft as ever.

"Oh, I hardly remember the words anymore. It was a curious little Wee-Fellow who sang it, too. Bilbo Baggins, his name was, if I reckon right, but he said something about being a Took as well. We chatted about the weather, I believe, and then he went off. Skipping, if I recollect correctly." She shook her head but she could still recall quite clearly the Hobbit. Bright-eyed with salt-and-pepper hair. A bit stout about the tum as Hobbits were wont to be. "Oh, there it is! It is much the same as I remember it."

"You've been here before?"

"Aye, a few times. It has been twenty years since then though. It does not seem nearly that long though."

They gratefully reached the Gates of Imladris just as night had begun to descend. In the East, the first few stars had come out and in the West the sky had been touched by fire and forges.

"_Dan-oduleg?"_ You again? It was the very welcome voice of Glorfindel coming from behind the gates. He wore a coy grin on his always boyish face and his golden hair was loose and shimmering. She had always loved his hair. Aelswyth laughed warmly and embraced him as she would her own brother, if she had any. "_I thought we had done away with your troublesome lot when Elrohir and his brother rode off to gallivant about with your Ranger-folk?" _His jest was all in good-nature, of course.

"_A long time has passed, my blood brother. I thought perhaps you had forgotten about the fire-_"

"_Forgotten? You burned nearly all of my dear library down."_

_"I_ _was drunk_!"

"_That is always your excuse."_

_"It is always true!"_ Aelswyth composed herself quickly, her features stern and eyes keen once more. "This is my husband, Boromir, Captain and High Warden of the White Tower, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor.," she intoned quite gravely in Westron.

"Well-done, my love; perhaps you should have taken a place up as Father's Herald?"

"No such luck, I'm afraid; I was stuck with you."

"Welcome, Boromir, son of Denethor. I was bade to take you and Aelswyth, to Lord Elrond at your arrival. Follow me, if you will."

* * *

><p>"How did he know you would be coming with me?," Boromir asked after their short meeting with Lord Elrond.<p>

"I imagine Gandalf had something to do with it; he always does. I hate wizards. Have I mentioned that before? Bloody hate 'em. A cheeky lot, they are."

"You _might _have mentioned it in passing."

"In passing only? How very unusual for me." She turned to him and kissed his brow gently. "Make yourself at home, husband. I am off to see what new trouble I can cause here. Hm, I wonder..." And with that she rather wandered off in some as yet undecided direction. She was very likely still talking to herself but he was glad to see her smile again however forced he knew it to be.

* * *

><p>She found peace though, not trouble, outside the library. For it was peace she crave and quiet as well. Boromir, however few his words, could be so loud sometimes and he didn't even know it.<p>

"Girl, come here now." Oh, damn it! _That _was not what she wanted. Not in the slightest. And just when she had found a quiet place in corner with a good book and comfortable chair too!

"Wizards...," she sighed as she went over to him. "What do you want now? My firstborn?" But the word lodged in her throat and she found her eyes pricking with new tears.

"That won't be necessary, I think. What news do you brings from Gondor?," asked Gandalf as he puffed on his pipe.

"Osgiliath has been reclaimed but I do not how long they can hold it without Boromir. His Father is using the _palantír_ alright. I can see it in his eyes and feel it in his soul. He's Looking but there's no telling what he's Seeing."

"Or who is Seeing him, yes, yes. We've had this talk once before. What is _new_?," he asked, exasperated and worn.

"Nothing is new, then. Everything is much the same as before. Except Osgiliath." _But for how long?, _she wondered. How long could they really hold that city without Boromir? Not very long at all, she reckoned. "If you'll ex-"

"No. Sit. Stay. I know when I am not welcome." He sounded a bit too chipper for her liking but she was glad enough to see the back of him. He turned around sharply, his eyes twinkling. "I am sorry though you might not believe me. There will be more to come for the both of you."

"Wizards.," she muttered darkly as she shook her head slowly. She nestled down with a good book and read untill she fell asleep.

"...Shards of _Narsil..._" a voice murmured so low she was scarce sure it was the voice who woke her at all. "The blade... that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand..." She heard a soft gasp, no more than sigh really. "It's still sharp...but no more than broken heirloom." She heard it clatter to the floor. _Don't be daft, my dear. Pick it up._, she urged him silently but he did not. Rather, she stood after his departure and replaced it for him. She saw Aragorn, or Strider, or whatever name he preferred, still sitting down with a book in hand. She gave him a terse nod and he returned it with a knowing glance.

She set out after Boromir. He'd have a right proper tongue-lashing when she found him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **

If I owned it or made any money off of this, I'd be rich but I don't and I'm not so I'm poor. Also, Joss is Boss but that's not really the point... This draws more from the movies as the books take way too much time to explain everything and I don't currently have the proper patience to steal- I mean, type all of that.

**A.N.:**

_So, poor, poor Ned_

_has lost his head_

_And now he's dead_

_I think today I'll stay abed_

Oh, I knew what was coming. Don't get me wrong; I _did _read the books after all and it is Sean Bean on the screen after all. His characters always die... or betray somebody... or both. Perhaps Ned will rise from the grave, so to speak, in _A Dance With Dragons. _Gods, I hope so and maybe Arya turns into a warrior princess and we finally find out who Jon Snow's mother is? You are all also breaking my virtual and metaphorical balls by not reviewing.

Again, my four _main_ endings are finished and as one possibility nears I find myself not wanting to go down that Road. Not yet at least.

* * *

><p>Quotage~"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others." Pericles. Ancient Greek politician, general, and statesman. Smart bloke, if you ask me.<p>

* * *

><p>Last Time In A Daughter of the Dunedain:<p>

_She heard it clatter to the floor_. Don't be daft, my dear. Pick it up_., she urged him silently but he did not. Rather, she stood after his departure and replaced it for him. She saw Aragorn, or Strider, or whatever name he preferred, and gave him a terse nod before following Boromir out. _

_He'd have a right proper tongue-lashing when she found him._

* * *

><p>"You should have put it back. Is your finger alright?" Everything came out in a jumbled, breathless sentence as she looked up to him expectantly.<p>

"I _have _had worse, you know.," he stated shortly. He had and he had the scars to prove it but then again so did she. He had seen them.

"Mmm, I know but you should have put it back. Kings don't like it when you play with their toys. Well, actually, it depends on the toy. And really the King-"

"Gondor has no king!," he stated vehemently and she could see that angry fire flaring in his eyes. She placed her hands against his chest and felt his heart racing hot and strong against her palms.

"No? Then, I must be mistaken." She kissed him tenderly on the lips, his heart still beating frantically though now for different reasons. "You really should have put it back though."

"Don't talk to me like I'm-"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a child.," he said softly. "I'm a man grown and I make my own damned decisions."

"..." She sighed, kissed him again. "Peace, husband. Soon this business will be over and we can return to Minas Tirith and-"

"-And what? Live happily ever after to the end of our days?"

"Aye, I quite like the sound of that. Has a nice ring to it."

"But very little merit. When we return to Minas Tirith, everything will be as it was. _Everything._"

"No.," she gasped, disbelieving. "Who does he promise you to now?"

"No one you know. No one even _I _know. A proper Lady, no doubt. I'll have none of her anyway."

"_We _are married; you'll not have a second wife with the first one still living."

"Mmmm. Perhaps someone should tell him..."

"Perhaps we'll just show up one day a few years from now with a thousand little children.," she suggested, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"A thousand? In a few years? We'd better get started then."

* * *

><p>They fell into a steady rhythm of sleeping and lovemaking until one morning she woke up and he was only just slipping out of bed. She glanced up at him, her eyes unfocused and sleepy.<p>

_"_Whereshya' goin'?," she mumbled, stifling a yawn.

"Lord Elrond has called a council; I'm to atten-" Before he could finish his sentence, she had leapt up and proceeded to dress herself in yesterday's clothing and then tried to get him into his own. He laughed softly and fended her off with gentle hands. "I'm to attend a _secret _council, Aelswyth. That means, alone. _Alone_."

"I know what it _means, _silly man. And it is not as though I'll be with you. I'll just be droppin' eaves where-"

"No.," he laughed, holding her stern face in his hands as though she were a delicate flower. "No, stay here and-"

"Oh, no. I'll not be resting today. We've done enough of that, it seems."

"Ahh, is that what we've been doing?"

"Alright, love, not quite resting. Oh, please?"

"Why do you insist on asking? I know you will find a way to spy on us anyway. You might as well just waltz in there."

"I _am_ sorely tempted but I dare not test Lord Elrond's wrath. I am still trying to forget the last time..." She shivered at the mere thought of angering the Elven lord. She kissed Boromir swiftly before departing.

* * *

><p>She pressed herself against the hard but warm stones of the wall and strained to hear every little sound. Elrond stood, looking dignified and cross in his fine Elven robes.<p>

" Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate-this one doom." He spoke in the modulated and careful Westron of one who did not natively speak it. His eyes swept those gathered around him and for a moment Aelswyth thought for sure he had sensed her presence somehow. His gaze passed over her and onto to others. He gestured toward the stone plinth. "Bring forth the ring, Frodo"

_A Hobbit? How ever did a Hobbit come to posses the Ring?_

"So it is true...," she heard Boromir sigh, longing in his voice. The little one returned to his seat, relief washing over him. She stared long at that Ring, its voice whispering dark, lovely things to her and she did not know how long she could resist it's promises. _False and empty, they are.,_ she warned herself.

"The doom of Men..." she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"In a dream," she heard Boromir begin and she thanked him silently for it was his voice that kept her from doing something stupid and rash. "I saw the Eastern Sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand." Still crouched low, she peered around the edge of the column and watched as Boromir approached the plinth. Even as Gandalf and Elrond exchanged concerned looks, she had to fight the urge to jump up, fly at him and throttle him senseless. He reached for the golden Ring on the plinth and she gnawed her lip until it bled.

"Isildur's Bane." There was a quiet longing, a deep-rooted desire, in his voice that not even Aelswyth had ever been privy to hear.

"Boromir!," warned Lord Elrond as he leapt to his feet. The Ring began its magic anew. A low, dark chant in the Black Speech of Mordor that Gandalf joined in on. The sky grew dark above them and she heard the distant crackling of thunder. A chill ran down the length of her spine and across the breadth of her body. The Voice of the Ring died away and the weather cleared. The assembly all returned to their seats, looking appropriately abashed and more than a little confused.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!" Elrond grimaced, his tone icy as he spoke, and he appeared years older than any Elf she had met and she _had _met a lot of them.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether Evil!" Gandalf too looked much older and his voice had gone raw and raspy from the force of the words he had only just used. The gray Wizard gave Boromir one final and all together scathing look but he was unperturbed

"It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" Boromir rose again and began to pace. Oh, mercy, she knew that look well enough. _Don't say anything stupid; don't do anything stupid so stupid as to suggest- _"Long has my Father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forced of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give _us _the Weapon of the Enemy. Let _us _use it against him!" Again she had to fight the sudden urge to leap up and beat him senseless with his own shield.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can." She recognized the man as Aragorn, son of Arathorn. The very same who had fought with her father under... well, she didn't properly remember who anymore. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It knows now other master."

"And what would a Ranger know this matter?" If he seemed indignant, it was mostly because he was. She could read it in his face as plainly as she saw daylight. _Oh, darling, he's not just a Ranger..._

"This is no mere Ranger!," a blonde Elf stated as he jumped to his feet. _Must be from Mirkwood. They're a right tight bunch. Sticks and mud up there arses. _"This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn? This... is Isildur's Heir?" Disbelief flashed in his eyes and seemed to look in her direction. She ducked down before his eyes could find her.

"And heir to the Throne of Gondor.," the Elf said, his eyes losing some of their playful light.

"_Havo dad, Legolas_.,_"_ said Aragorn, or Strider, or Estel, or whatever name he preferred here in these Halls, in a soft, calm voice. Sit down, Legolas.

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." The words lacked his previous conviction but it was easy to see he meant it. _Oh, my husband, you've no idea how badly Gondor needs her King_. He returned to his seatrather solemnly and with a heavy sigh, as if things weighed him down greatly.

_It's such a little thing., _she thought as she looked at the Ring again. _Really a very tiny thing to cause so much trouble. _

_"_Well?," a stout Dwarf prompted, impatient. "What're we waiting for?" The Dwarf grabbed his axe( Durin's kinfolk were never without their axes) and approached the plinth, his dark, little flashing with an odd mix of lust and fear. With a powerful grunt, he heft his axe up and brought it down on the Ring. Surely it was done for but instead he was thrown back and to the ground. The whispers in the Black Speech began again and she was surely tempted to grab it for herself.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.," spoke Lord Elrond gravely, as was his fashion. She heard the Ring whisper again.

"Such sweet, dark things..." she sighed softly, scarcely louder than the rustle of the wind through the leaves.

"One of you must do this.," the Elven Lord added, frowning deeply, his face torn by lines Aelswyth did not remember from years ago. Silence descended upon the Council and even Aelswyth found herself struck dumb by the proposition.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor.," her husband said, looking vexed and worn in his seat. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!," said the Elf Legolas as he leapt to his feet.

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?," cried Gimli, son of Glóin, as he too went to his feet.

"And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?," as Boromir's voice rose so to did he. _Keep calm, my husband. Now is not the time to bicker like children. _

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!," roared Gimli, son of Glóin. The men-folk all dissolved into exactly what she expected. Bickering like children over the Ring as if it were some toy.

"Never trust an Elf!" The Dwarf's harsh voice rose above the din the others created.

"Do you not understand that while we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron's power grows? None can escape it! You'll all be destroyed!" She had never seen Gandalf look so frustrated, so... human. They carried on as though they had never heard him untill finally a little voice rose above them.

"I will take it! I will take it!"

All those at the Council of Elrond turned slowly to face Frodo, the little Hobbit who had brought the Ring to Rivendell. She closed her eyes slowly and hid her face behind her hand.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor... Though I... I do not know the way."

Gandalf rose and placed his hand of Frodo's shoulder. Reassuring him. "I will help you bear this burden, so long as it is your to bear."

"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.," said Aragorn gravely as he rose to his feet and knelt before Frodo Baggins. "You have my sword."

"Mine as well!" She did not know her voice would echo so terribly and she did not know how nor why she had said that. She thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile on Lord Elrond's face but she could've been mistaken. He had never really smiled at her for any reason other than she was departing and he was finally seeing the back of her. Boromir stared at her with an appropriate mix of shock and horror as she walked over to the Hobbit and gave him a gentle smile.

"And you have my bow.," offered the Mirkwood Elf, Legolas, as he approached them.

"And my axe!," said Gimli as he eyed Legolas grimly.

Boromir opened his mouth as if to speak but Aelswyth eyed him coldly and he held his peace rather reluctantly.

"Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!," exclaimed another Hobbit as he jumped up from behind a bush. Blonde, this one. _He must be related to Elves.,_ Aelswyth reflected as she eyed him up and down.

"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are _not_." Elrond seemed quite amused though and Aelswyth was sure he knew the both of them had been there the whole time. His gray eyes lingered on her a moment longer, a smile tugging at the grim line of his mouth.

"Wait!," came two small voices in unison. Another two Hobbits- which was more than she had ever seen- emerged from behind pillars of their own. "We're coming too!"

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!," said one of them. Elrond looked as though he just might.

"You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest... thing.," continued the other, his eyes merry and bright.

"Well, that rules you out, Pip.," quipped the other.

"The Company of the Ring shall be Nine. The Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil.," mused Elrond most thoughtfully. "So be it!"

"Great!," exclaimed on the Hobbits. "Where are we goin'?"'

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><p>"I cannot allow you to go!" Though he spoke with anger, he did not seem so. Only troubled. "I will take your place-"<p>

"You will do no such thing. Your place is with your people. You must return to Gondor and hold Osgiliath for us. We may have use for it in the days to come." Already, she had started brooding and making maps and plans with Aragorn. And Legolas. And Gimli. Although it wasn't the Dwarf that vexed him so. Or the Elf. She had never really had eyes for Elves.

"You dare to order me-"

"I'm not daring to... I _am..._ politely requesting that you return to Osgiliath. Please do this one, small thing for me, my love?"

"It will be no _small_ thing to hold that city. You know well how hard it was to reclaim it."

"Aye, but it _needs_ you to hold it." She rested her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

He fell silent and seemed to think on it for a long while. Finally he pulled her to him and held her there in both his arms tightly. "I will hold it. I will hold it... For you.," he added finally with a firm kiss before pulling her to the bed.

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><p>Leaves fluttered to the earth around them. <em>Iavas<em> had come earlier than she had expected. She picked up a sere, brown leaf and twirled in her fingers. Aelswyth watched them with a heavy heart as Elrond cast a stern gaze at the gathered Free-folk before him.

(**A.N.: Just a quick bit here. Elves measure time in seasons. Not in months or in days. Iavas is early fall.**)

"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him no oath nor bond is laid, to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you." He spread his arms. Aelswyth, Aragorn, and Legolas all bowed their heads with their hands upon their hearts. Of Boromir she saw nothing; he had departed in the early hours of dawn without so much as a word to her.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer.," Gandalf intoned, mirth ever dancing in his eyes. Frodo, the Wee One, turned and walked uncertainly ahead of them. The Road split into two direction and he looked now to Gandalf.

"Mordor, Gandalf... Is it left or right?"

"Left.," was Gandalf's soft reply as they left behind the comfort and safety of Imladris. It did not go unnoticed by Aelswyth that her kinsman lingered behind them, making doe-eyes at Arwen.

"You love her still." It was a statement, not a question. A simple fact neither of them could dare to deny.

He said nothing, only nodded slowly and smiled wistfully.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

**And So Close To The Last One**

Oh, noes! Okay, okay, so I just disregarded all four of my endings. I wasn't especting to do that; this chapter really wrote itself. Sooooo, yeah. Anyway, I wasn't gonna do any Tenth Walker bull-shit either. _ "The Company of the Ring shall be Nine. The Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil."_ This quote is directly from the book and it should be a Law in LotR fanfictions... I think so anyway. I aim to maintain the integrity of Tolkien's original plot with the only current variable being Aelswyth and really she's only taking up Boromir's place in the Fellowship. I don't know if I want her to die though. I've written that ending and I didn't like it very much. Anyway, read. Review. I like it when y'all do those things. They make me happy and then I eat cookies.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Daughter of the Dunedain**

Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **

I do not claim any ownership to the rights of Tolkien's work. I do not make any profit off of this. This is only an expression of the voices inside my head. They're telling me you should also review

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><p>"a total stranger one black day knocked living the hell out of me-" e... Another one of my literary idols.<p>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Well, this took long enough! Sorry for the wait! My hours got way jacked up, I've recently discovered sleep, and I'm working on something original as well.

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><p>She could not count the distance they had traveled in a manner of feet or miles, only in days. At her count, they'd been on their Road for fifteen days, give or take a few. She might not have been keeping a <em>good <em>count but it was a count nonetheless. They paused on hillside somewhere in the uncharted wilds.

"We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there our road turns east to Mordor." said Gandalf, looking sage as he ran a hand down his beard. She hated it when he did that, looked all knowing and powerful and weary.

"_Do you think they dream?_" she asked softly in Sindarin. Aragorn gave her a mixed look of wonder and curiosity. "_The trees... Do they dream? I've always wondered what with Ents and all..._" She felt like a child asking such questions. Like a stupid, little girl who needed someone to talk to if for no other reason than to hear the sound of voices. Voices as soft as rain on dry dirt, hissing. Voices like soft sighs and dreams gone-by.

"_You ask the strangest questions..._" When he saw that she was quite serious, he mussed her hair the way a brother might and laughed. "_Of course they do, thêl vell_(sister)_. They dream Tree-Dreams._"

"_You humor me, aran vell_(beloved king)_._"

"No. We are cousins of a sort and I would not have that here on this Road we now take."

She fell into a deep silence, her thoughts turning now to Boromir and what Road he had taken. She wondered if it was the right thing to do. Taking his place. She had seen it in his eyes, that he was going to give himself to the Fellowship. And it would not have been for the best reasons. Surely she was as tempted as he but her will was her own. His might not have been. _It was to protect him.,_ she told herself. _I did it to save him from himself. He will be safer in Osgiliath than the Road we travel now..._

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><p>As Aragorn sparred with Merry and Pippin, she shouted a few words of encouragement every now and then. They were catching on quite adorably... if that was possible.<p>

"Oh, good, Pip! Very good! Faster, Merry! Wouldn't want Pip to get the upper hand, would you?"

" -taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome!" She caught only faintest hint of surprise on the old Wizard's face he lowered his pipe.

"No Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." spoke Gandalf with some measure of sadness in his voice.

She laid her head back and closed her eyes for only a moment when she heard Legolas shout: "_Crebain _from Dunland!"

"Hide!" Aragorn urged them fiercely.

"Hurry!" she added, snuffing the fire with her cloak and gathering her pack. The others scrambled about her as she and Aragorn made for a niche in the rocky slope. She held a steady hand on the hilt of her blade, nearly ready for anything. Aragorn lay next to her, breath held, eyes sharp. He glanced over at her and then back to the blot of teeming black against the otherwise clear sky. When they flew back southward, the Fellowship came out from under the rocks like roaches fleeing from the light.

" Spies of Saruman! The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras." Gandalf decided as he looked up to a high, snowy mountain in the distance. Aelswyth knew she was not going to like this. She had tangled once with the Pass before and had been defeated. She didn't much like the thought of tackling it again.

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><p>She clutched to Merry and Pippin protectively. She held onto them as though they were her own flesh and blood. The sky over head was vast and blue and threatening. Her teeth chattered inside her skull.<p>

"Ughn!" she heard Frodo from somewhere behind her. She turned her head sharply to see Aragorn helping him to his feet. Concern was etched into every line of his face. Her eyes fell to the little golden glint lying in the snow. The Ring on it's Chain began to whisper to her. All those sweet, dark lovely things again. She slammed her eyes shut and turned away from it. She could resist. She could.

"_Come back to me alive." _Boromir had made her promise as they lay in bed together. "_Come back to me whole and well or not at all_."

"_I always find a way back to you..._" she had whispered as she nipped at his neck. "_I have faced a horde of Orc and Uruk-hai and trolls of every kind... I will come back._"

Somehow, she was holding the Ring in her hand and did not know how she had come to have it.

"Such a small thing..." she whispered as she turned it over in her hand.

"_Thêl vell?_" came Aragorn's voice as though it were coming out of some half-remembered dream. She did not move her eyes from the Ring but her face looked sorrowful and unyielding. "Aelswyth!"

She snapped her head up to him, eyes wide and terrified.

"Give the Ring to Frodo." he ordered sternly. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword and she knew he would not be afraid to use it. She walked down the slope to where Frodo and Aragorn stood. She held out the Ring by it's chain. It dangled between them for naught but a moment. Frodo's face was just as terrified as her own when he seized it from her. She turned her face away, her whispered apologies cast into the wind. She faced ahead again and went to where Merry and Pippin stood as Frodo eyed her suspiciously. Aragorn's hand left the hilt of his sword as he saw a thin stream of tears race down her face.

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><p>She could hardly see through the blinding snow but they trudged on relentlessly as Gandalf forged the way ahead of them. Legolas bounded ahead of her as though he were walking on top of the snow. Now, she was pretty sure she hated Wizards <em>and <em>Elves. At least those of the Mirkwood variety.

The wind rose to a horrible screeching.

"There is a fell voice on the wind!" cried Legolas from ahead.

"It's Sarumon!" came Gandalf's grating reply. Above them the arms of the mountain creaked and gave way. She thrust Merry and Pippin into sheer face of the cliff and took herself with them as the mountain seemed to come tumbling down around them.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain! Gandalf, we must turn back!" Aragorn bellowed above the swirling, icy storm.

She could not hear Gandalf's reply but somehow sensed it was an emphatic _No_. He moved to the edge of the cliff as the very mountain seethed against them. His voice bellowed into the mountain in an very old language that she had no knowledge of. She felt its power, felt its strength, and she felt it fail. _Sarumon is too strong_., she thought dismally as she continued to hold onto Merry and Pippin.

A more dreadful cry arose in frozen maelstrom and Caradhras sent another wave of snow and ice toward them. Legolas grabbed Gandalf in the nick of time. They buried completely but slowly they emerged from the avalanche. She was still clinging to Merry and Pip for dear life.

"We should make for the Gap of Rohan! We can make it to Osgiliath and then onto Mordor!" Aelswyth suggested grimly over the din of the wind.

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" came Aragorn's expected reply.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria." said Gandalf, looking conflicted as a shadow passed across his face. "Let the Ring-bearer decide." he added after what seemed like ages. She caught his gaze and shivered. She was not cold; she was frightened

"We cannot stay here. This place will be the death of the Wee Ones." She hugged the pale and freezing frames of Merry and Pip closer to her.

"We will go through the Mines." decided Frodo after a brief instant.

"So be it." was all Gandalf said.

They had been defeated. That was all she knew and now they turned South.

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><p>His golden smile. His eyes. His face. His hands running across her face and through her hair. His heart racing against her chest as they- A gasp from Gimli drew her out of her reverie.<p>

"The Walls... Of Moria!"

A brooding wall of sheer rock face rose above them and continued into the obscuring mist.

"Dwarf doors are invisible." Gimli said as he knocked his axe against a rock and what little good that did them.

"Yes, Gimli, even their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten." said Gandalf once again looking sage and composed as he eyed the cliff face up and down.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" came Legolas's scornful reply. Gimli grumbled but held his peace for which she silently thanked him. It wasn't often a Dwarf held his peace in the presence of an Elf, especially not one that had just posed an insult. Aelswyth sat down as there wasn't much else for her to do. So, she waited and skipped rocks across the water. She watched Merry and Pippin closely though and thought it strange that Gandalf was running his hands along the strangely smooth surface of the rock face. He was muttering lowly as his hands went to and fro. To and fro. To and fro. Then finally he stepped back, his eyes twinkling merrily, the faintest of smiles playing at his worn face.

"There!" Triumphant, he sounded. The Sky cleared and the beautifully full Moon shone down, cold and bright. "Can you see anything now?" Aelswyth sat forward but for a long while no one could see anything. Slowly on the even surface where Gandalf's hands had passed faintly glowing lines began to appear. Lines as fine and as fickle as gossamer thread. Oh, but she could see the lines and read the words clear enough. It was thier Gate alright.

"There are the emblems of Durin!" spoke Gimli, son of Gloín. Sure enough there was the Hammer and Anvil surmounted by a Crown and Seven Stars. _Seven Stars and Seven Stones. And one white tree. _Everything seemed to remind her of Boromir and Gondor.

"And there is the Tree of the High Elves!" came the excited voice of Legolas. Well, and there were the two holly trees with their crescent moons. _And one white tree. _She so longed for Gondor that she thought she might be sick.

"And the Star of the House of Fëanor." said Gandalf, looking quite pleased with himself. "They are wrought of _ithildin_ that mirrors only moonlight and starlight and sleeps untill one who knows the long-forgotten words speaks them. It has been a long while since I heard them and I thought deeply before I could recall them."

Frodo asked Gandalf what they said but Aelswyth did not need to hear his answer. She stood slowly and traced her fingers across the glowing Elven script. _The Doors of Durin, __Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. _There was more naturally, as Elves were wont to be flowery with thier words. A few words on those who crafted the Gate and it's Words and whatever Magic it had.

"What does it mean _Speak, friend, and enter_?" came Merry's boy-ish voice.

"That's plain enough. If you are friend, speak the password and you may enter." explained Gimli.

"Well, what's the password?" querried Pippin. _Foolish Pippin., _she thought silently as she ruffled his hair.

"What was the point in bringing us here if he cannot open those bloody doors?" she asked to no one in particular under her breath. If any of them heard her, they did not indicate otherwise.

"Well, it's not working." she heard Pippin complain loudly.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves... Men... And Orcs." He did not seem boastful, only annoyed as he tried to push the doors apart. How comical that would have been? One old Wizard to push apart the Dwarven Doors?

"What're you going to do then?" pressed Pippin, piping up.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and when I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

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><p>She yawned lazily and breifly considered falling asleep, even for a moment. <em>That would mean dreaming... <em>And her dreams often reminded her of who she had sent off and all things they _could be _doing instead of what they were _actually_ doing. She liked sleep not and her dreams even less but they were more hospitable than listening to Samwise weep so sorely over a pony( _Bill. _She reminded herself though she thought it a strange name for a horse. _He's not my Modig. That's for certain._). Or Merry and Pippin receive a curt scolding from Aragorn for skipping stones.

She heard Gandalf let out what was akin to a _whoop_ as the Wizard went to his feet. He was laughing! She had never known him to laugh. "I have it! I have it now! Of course! Absurdly simple, like most riddles when you see the answer!" He picked up the staff he had so unceremoniously dropped and waved it. "_Mellon._" She too felt like laughing. _Mellon_ was the Elven word for friend. The doors did not mean "Speak, friend, and enter"; they meant "Speak "friend" and enter." Languages, she reflected, could so confusing. She wondered how many wars had been fought over a single misinterpretation or a tiny misquote? She'd wager on almost all of them.

"I do not like the look of it." Aelswyth muttered when she saw the bodies thrown into a sharp relief by the light of Gandalf's staff. _It looks like a tomb!_ Her sword is drawn before she can stop herself. Instinct won out over better sense although sometimes Instinct was better sense.

Gimli moaned and lamented his loss. They were his people, Durin's Folk, and he had that right but there was foul smell in the air. _And noise attracts enemies. _

"Goblins!" spat Legolas as though he were hurling curses.

"We should never have come here! We make for the Gap of Rohan!" If she sounded desperate... well, let them hear her that way. As the four Hobbits were backing out, something in the water outside stirred. She spun on her heels when she heard Frodo cry and there was Sam hacking away at the tentacle that had seized Frodo. She mad to run out there but instead pulled Merry and Pippin farther in.

"Quick!." Gandalf cried. "Into the Gateway! Up the stairs!"

All their horror forgotten the Fellowship followed behind Sam and Frodo as they entered the Mines of Moria. All well and good because the thing in the water with it's many tentacles glittering in the moonlight slithered from it's pool. With a horrid strength it seized the doors and slammed them shut, plunging them into darkness.

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><p><em>Four days. Four endless days in this place. <em>She kept her mind on one thing. _Boromir. _Well, the Little Ones also. She looked to Merry and Pippin to fill the void that was left in her womb when she lost her son. She felt one of them tug at her wrist. Childish the way they got her attention but it worked.

"Are we lost?" asked Pippin.

"No." answered Merry for her.

"I think we are." continued Pippin, still speaking to her.

"Shhhh. Gandalf's thinking." came Sam's voice in a soft whisper.

"Merry?" said Pippin, looking to his cousin.

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

"Me too." replied Merry.

"You two are always hungry but Sam's right. We ought not to be talking right now."

Aelswyth could do little else but sit and wait which felt like that was all she was doing. Oh, and walking. A lot of walking... And watching... And waiting... And more walking...

"Oh! It's that way!" came Gandalf's voice suddenly. Aelswyth looked up, a little surprised, but she was relieved nonetheless. Sitting and waiting and watching did not bode well for her.

"He remembered!" sounded a relieved looking Merry as he rose to his feet.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down there. When in doubt, Meriadoc, follow your nose."

And so they walked on but before long they came upon a wide, open space. As wide and as open as a space could be when underground. She heard Gandalf murmur something near inaudible as his staff came alive and cast it's bright blue-silver light upon the halls of Dwarrowdelf. The walls seemed to shiver and shimmer with a light that they had not known for some years.

So it went that they walked on for a little while yet. Untill Gandalf bid them to yield.

Steady! You do not know what is inside! I will go first..."

They filed after him into some type of guardroom. In the center was a gaping whole- a well, if you will- with several rusted and broken chains trailing around and down it. She did not think she'd like to be on the opposite ends of those chains.

"...And we must all take care in the dark..." she heard Gimli warn in his gruff voice as they began to bed down. She took care to stay far away from the edge. With her luck, she'd wind up at the bottom of the well before her turn for watch was up.

From over her shoulder, she heard a soft _plunk_ and turned around sharply, her eyes narrowed down to slits. There was Pippin, looking appropriately abashed as he confessed to his crime.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time rid us of your stupidity!" scolded Gandalf. "Now be quiet!"

A soft, nearly imperceptible sound picked up in the silence. Gimli asserted that it was the sound of hammers. Aelswyth just wished it would stop.

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><p>She dreamed dark dreams and was quite pleased when Aragorn roused her for her turn at watch. She went to wake Frodo but saw his face, pale and strained, and left him to his rest. His seemed more fruitful than hers. It was Gandalf who rose first and then he roused them all.<p>

"Foolish girl..." he muttered though not entirely under his breath. She smiled softly and shrugged before they all broke their fast. The men made their plans, as men were wont to do, but she was a woman and thought herself more the wiser for only listening. Even the best laid plans could- or more often _would_- go awry.

Gandalf as usual lead them on and Aelswyth fell to the rear of the Company. Soon they passed under a great, glimmering arch. It brought them to a wide corridor with it's own dim sparkle which came from a doorway to thier right. The door was still fairly in tact but seemed as though it had seen much better days. The chamber behind the doors was fairly large and square, covered in dust and smelled faintly of musk. Pleasant and warm. Like sunny days and starry nights. Like home and hope. _Mercy, woman._ She could hear Boromir saying as the voice inside her mind now sounded like him. _It is only a smell. _

The chamber was lit by a shaft. When she stood near it, she could see a patch of bright blue sky. Now before her stood _a single oblong block, about two feet high, upon which was laid a great slab of white stone._ It felt like a tomb. _This is a tomb._, she told herself as her fingers ran along the deeply carved runes. She did not know runes but she did not need to.

"These are Daeron's Runes, such as were used in Moria.," said Gandalf, a note of sadness to his voice. "Balin, Son of Fundin. Lord of Moria... He is dead, then. It is as I feared." Gimli, ever the Dwarf, pulled his hood over his face so none could see him. She did not know if Dwarves wept but she was sure he was.

Gandalf had fished a book out of some crack or crevice, no doubt, and had begun to read from it. She did not like what she was hearing.

"_They have taken the bridge…and the second hall_." read Gandalf. "_We have barred the gates…but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes._" He paused here and cast a fleeting glance at those around him. "_The pool is up to the wall at Westgate. The Watcher in the Water took Óin. We cannot get out. We cannot get out. The end comes... _Then _drums, drums in the deep._"

**Boom. Boom.**

_Oh, mercy!, _she thought, wringing her hands fretfully. "Drums in the deep...," she muttered as she sprang forward to bar the door.

**Boom. Boom.**

A great horn sounded from the depths below them as she shut the door and wedged it shut. She just barely missed her face being shot full of a few goblin arrows.

**Boom. Boom.**

She backed away, her sword suddenly drawn and glinting pale and deadly in the light. Dazzling as she flashed Aragorn a mischievous smile. He did not return it.

**Boom. Boom. **

Gimli, in some fit of grief or rage or both, leapt on top of Balin's tomb. "Let them come! There is still one Dwarf in Moria that draws breath!"

**Boom. Boom.**

Their enemies crashed through the doors which proved of little use to stop them in the end. Still grinning like some mad woman, Aelswyth threw herself into the mob even as they rushed in. Even as Aragorn and Legolas notched their arrows and fired.

**Boom. Boom.**, went the drums in the deep as Aelswyth slew an Orc with a mighty arc of her sword, now blackened by the blood.

Gandalf's voice drew her out of her battle and she looked to see Frodo was pinned to the wall. With a shout, she swung her Lady about and another Orc fell, spraying his vile black, blood across her face. She did not flinch.

**Boom. Boom. **Still the drums in the deep sounded

She rushed to Frodo and found the tomb seemingly empty when she reached him. Aragorn had picked him up from where he lay and made for the stairway. Aelswyth pushed Merry and Pippin ahead of her and went on after them, her eyes on fire.

"I'm alright!" gasped Frodo from a head and Aelswyth could've weeped for joy.

"You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar!" came Aragorn's voice, filled with awe.

"To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!" ordered Gandalf wearily from behind them. The Fellowship ran onward with Gandalf at their rear.

"Over the bridge! Fly! This foe is beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!" cried Gandalf, his voice weary and hoarse. Neither she nor her kinsman obeyed. They stood side by side with their swords drawn, poised and grave. The rest of their little Company stood just within the doorway at the end of the narrow hall. They turned and each seemed as unwilling as the others to leave their leader to such a great foe.

Gandalf, wizened and bent, stood in the middle of the bridge. He was leaning heavily on his staff but in his other he wielded the fabled _Glamdring. _The Balrog halted and stood still, if what it was doing could be considered standing. She could see no legs, only fire. She felt her knees tremble and her heart gave a little shudder as she stared into its great, flaming eyes.

"You cannot pass!" _Ai!_ So his strength had returned to him. All the weariness had left his voice. "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn! Go back to the Shadow!" The Wizard clenched his jaw, determined, but the beast would not be deterred. It stepped forward onto the bridge, brandishing a whip. Gandalf raised his sword and staff into the air as the last of his strength seemed to seep from his body.

"YOU... SHALL NOT...PASS!" His voice rang through the cavern, drowning out the booming of the drums. He drove his staff into the bridge and blue-white light erupted from it. From him. As the Balrog moved forward, the bridge collapsed from under it. Her heart surged with triumph as she saw it fall. Gandalf turned to go with them but the flaming whip of the Balrog came whirling up. The thongs lashed and fixed about the knees of the wizard. He struggled vainly and grasped at the edge, but in the end he fell.

"Fly, you fools!" he said and then was gone.

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><p>The last of the drum beats faded as they broke out into the open air. She had no words to offer any of them, least of all herself. <em>I never like 'im. Him or his ilk. But he was brave, bloody stupid but brave. And brilliant. <em>The light burned her eyes and she sheilded them her bloodied forearm. _My blood._ Though that thought did not quite set in untill a few hours later.

She sheathed her Lady as she knelt down beside Merry and Pippin, who was crying. She tried to console them both but soon found she was crying too. She couldn't quite say why. _Foolish girl... _she told herself but even that could wring no smile from her.

"Legolas, get them up!." Aragorn ordered as he turned to them.

She did not have it in her to protest. So on they pushed. That night she dreamed of the drums in the deep.

**Boom. Boom.**

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

My longest chapter by far. I just couldn't cut it off at a good spot. Anyway, reviews are good, yes? Thanks again to Naurwe for being my only reviewer! Those of you still reading this should go check out her Women of Middle Earth series. They're pretty awesome.

**Edit: The War of the Comma Splice has been waged and won. I emerge mostly victorious! Thanks to ****Naurwe for that as well! Anyway, I think I cleaned most of it up and there are a few new sentences strewn about in there somewhere! Onto Lothlorien now!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 8**

_Or_

**Meanwhile, Back At The Bat cave**

**Disclaimer: **

_Oy vey's mir! _Do I have to keep doing this? I don't own

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><p>"If we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change"~ Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa (<em>The Leopard<em>)

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

It's just sort of about Boromir's trip back to Minas Tirith and what shenanigans he gets into there. It hopefully won't turn out to be too long but I've said that before and ended up with 5,000 words so I'm thinkin' at least two or three thousand in here. **Umm**, I hope this answers your questions! Anyway, here we go! As always, a huge thanks goes out to Naurwe for successfully reviewing every single chapter! Go and check her Women of Middle-Earth series out if you haven't already!

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><p><strong>Boom. Boom. <strong>

His eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly, suddenly flooded with an irrational and primal sort of fear. _Thunder._, he told himself. _It is _only _thunder. _He _had _been terrified by storms once. When he was younger anyway. All children were to some extent. Faramir was always positively frightened of them and when it stormed in Minas Tirith, all sorts of hell broke loose.

**BrrrrrrrBoooom. **

The storm rumbled like some violent battle high above his head. He looked up, saw thick black clouds hanging there, and cursed softly. He didn't need that now and he certainly didn't want it. No, no, no. He wanted green and golden paths; he wanted blue skies above him; he didn't want rain. Asfaloth whickered softly, his eyes rolling in his head as he prance nervously.

"Shhhh." he soothed softly as he took the white horse by his headstall. He whickered again and stamped his hoof almost in protest.

"_He is sure-footed and swift like all our horses. He can take you where ever you wish to go, Boromir._" the Elven-lord, Glorfindel, had said in his rather soft and boy-ish voice. "_Be warned; he's a mind of his own, this one._"

"_The Rohirrim have a saying... You can lead a horse but you can't make him drink_." The blonde Elf had grinned and laughed. It was a wide, easy smile and an infectious laughter.

"_Precisely. And don't trouble yourself with bringing him back; he knows the way the home._"

_Do I?, _he had wondered and was still wondering as he eyed the path ahead of him.

"_Noro lim._" _Ride fast. _Glorfindel's order given and then Asfaloth broke into a mad dash. He'd never know a horse so fast nor so confident. Asfaloth had carried him so far already. Isengard was near enough in his sights and to think he had such little trouble.

**BoommmmmmmmBoom. **

The sky opened up and rain began to drizzle down. He _had _been expecting a bit more but he was grateful in any case.

He rested his eyes for only a moment before he mounted the white horse and ordered him on.

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><p>The Greyflood had done just that. <em>Flooded indeed.,<em> he mused quietly as he eyed the swamped landscape. The ford the bridge had formed was under water; he could scarce see it at all. Asfaloth nickered and shook his head.

"Mm. I don't like the look of it either." He frowned deeply before dismounting, his options sliming down with each passing second. Well... He could always wait but time was not something he had the luxury off. He could wade it, assuming he could find the remains of the bridge. That would mean sending Asfaloth back home. He could swim; the waters were deep but they weren't that strong... Again, Asfaloth could not come with him and he was so very fond of this horse. With a sigh, he dismounted the Elven horse and eyed the sluggish waters cautiously.

"Go." he ordered the horse. Asfaloth stayed and watched him closely. "Go home." With a whicker, Asfaloth nudged his shoulder, putting him closer to the water. Then, the white stallion took a step closer.

_He's a mind of his own, this one..._

"Well, don't get yourself drowned. I can't have that..."

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><p>The waters were shallower than he had thought and fording them was much easier than he had anticipated. At least <em>something <em>was going his way. Since reclaiming Osgiliath, he seemed to have lost almost every battle and not all of them required swords and shields. Certain battles, as he had come to understand it, required certain social graces. Some of which he seemed to lack. _Tact._ He lacked that apparently. And finesse, whatever that was.

"_Lord Elrond is very cross with us._," she had sighed so peacefully as she has rested her head on his chest, her heart keeping a rabbit's pace against his own. He'd sat up rather quickly, disentangling himself from her in the process.

"_Us? It was _you _that got us into this mess_."

"Me? _You came here at your lord Father's behest. Why, just imagine what _stupid _idea you would've got into that head of yours?_"

"_Instead, it got into yours! What were you thinking?_"

Yes, what _had _she been thinking? _She _should have been the one going to Minas Tirith. to Osgiliath. Not him. He should be... where ever the Fellowship was, damn it all! And there was the matter of Isildur's Heir...

Asfaloth, no worse for wear, whickered and nudged his shoulder again. _On you go_, the white stallion seemed to say. Still sodden, he mounted up and spurred the horse on.

When it had gone dark, almost black, with only the cold stars above to light his path, he was forced to stop though he found he could not sleep. In place of sleep, he watched the sky change colors. It became a myriad of colors near dawn. Star-pitted black above slowly gave way to indigo and indigo to amethyst. And on the horizon, there was fiery array of orange and red.

_Red sky in the morning, a sailor's warning. _The phrase floated through his head, entirely unconnected to anything else, save the red horizon. He was suddenly given an image of his mother's wan and wasted face as she held his hand and smiled at him with a red and ashen sky at the back of her.

_I am no sailor, Mother. I am steadfast. I am a Man of Gondor. I am the Captain and High Warden of the White Tower. I am not my father. I will not fail in this task._

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><p>The landscape passed by him in a muted blur of greens and grays. He did not fully understand how much time had passed or quite where he was until Isengard was behind him. How he had come to pass unmolested was beyond him but he would not complain, not while Edoras was ahead of him. There was no avoiding it, he assumed. Honor and duty and family... These three things obligated him entirely to a visit into the Barn, as his father had once called it. It <em>was <em>rather like a barn.

But he could not stop. There simply wasn't enough time. _Time. Time. Time. _It always came down to time. There was never enough of it. Asfaloth must have sensed his desolation; the horse broke into a gallop with a renewed vigor and the Barn soon became nothing more than an after-thought. He rode through the night but by midday he could not sit his horse properly and the white stallion was nearly dead on his hooves, so to speak. He sprang from the saddle and lead the white stallion to the side of the Road.

"Go home." he tried again. Asfaloth huffed and nipped at him but did not leave. "Go!" Still, the stallion eyed him strangely but refused to move.

_He's a mind of his own, this one_...

"_Noro lim..._" And still the beast just stared at him. Decidedly resigned, Boromir made his bed on the unfamiliar ground of Rohan. He dreamed on Gondor. He dreamed of home.

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><p>"Well, what's this?" A very familiar and sorely missed voice roused Boromir from his rest. He blinked away the sleep and stared at the face of his brother, a close image of his own, and his Rangers (not the Northmen, though they were kin, after a fashion)."My own brother? Sleeping on the job?" Faramir held down his hand and pulled his brother to his feet. They embraced tightly. "I'd have to see it to believe it!"<p>

"Hush up, you! I am still the oldest-"

"Yes, and still the biggest!" said Faramir, patting at his belly.

Both thier faces broke into wide, cheeky grins and laughter tore through them.

"I have missed you though, little brother. Tell me something though.," and Boromir's eyes grew stern and his voice low. He was on some urgent mission. Faramir could tell that much at least.

"Anything you wish to know..."

"What are you and your Rangers doing so far west of Ithilien? Do we still hold Osgiliath? Have you heard anything from Aelswyth?"

"She is why we are so far west. _She _sent us to scout for you and to watch Rohan."

He could finally breath now. _She is safe._ That little clench he'd kept in his chest finally loosened and he could breath. Resting his head in his hands, he fought back tears of joy. _She is safe! _

"And Osgiliath?"

"She fell to the agents of the Enemy but you have returned to us. She can be reclaimed easily now."

"Of course. Of course. Where is Aelswyth?"

"...Father..." began his beloved little brother slowly.

"Yes?" Boromir rose swiftly to his feet, his eyes bloodshot. "What of him?"

"She is safe but she cannot leave the White Tower. He will not allow it." spoke Faramir hesitantly. He watched his older brother closely for some sign of foolishness, some sign of stupidity.

"She is a prisoner?" There was his sign. The subtlest of hints: Boromir had reached for the white stallion's headstall.

"I wouldn't use that word. Not a prisoner. Not exactly." he continued just as carefully.

"She is and I know she would rather be dead than be in Minas Tirith a moment longer." Boromir spit the words from his mouth like they gave him a vile sort of a taste. Perhaps they did.

Faramir frowned lightly. There was another sign. "You truly love her?"

"Aye, she is the only woman I have ever known and the only one I'll ever care to. She's my wife." He had never quite spoken those words aloud to anyone. Not exactly those words. "Keep your Rangers here, little brother, but you will take me to her!" There was something dangerous, something deadly, flashing in his sharp eyes. Something fierce.

The siblings mounted their horses and rushed them ahead.

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><p>He did not see the faces of his people, did not heed their jubilant cries. His mind was consumed by one thing alone and even Faramir, who was always the stronger rider, struggled to keep his pace. Asfaloth did not have nearly any trouble at all racing through the various levels of Minas Tirith.<p>

When he came to his father, the Steward of Gondor was sitting at his chair, looking rather contrite and in control. He looked worn and tired as he sat his black throne. His face had a few more lines and his hair was a bit more gray than either of his sons had noticed before. Faramir suddenly lost most of his resolution though Boromir remained grim and savage.

"My Son!" Denethor rose slowly and went to embrace his eldest son but Boromir kept his at arm's length. All his esctacy had faded and the Steward's eyes grew dark. "And so you spurn me for this woman too? Your brother," a sneer came to his lined face as he spoke, "would see me ousted by a whore with a bastard in her belly. He follows her every whim as though she were his little queen." The sneer intensified with the meter of his voice.

"What whore?" Boromir snarled, failing to reign in his temper. "She is my wife, wedded and bedded."

"No! She _is _nothing. She _has _nothing but bad blood flowing in her veins!"

"She has the same blood as Mother, as your wife."

"No..." A low whine. Boromir had scarce heard it. "She _is _nothing..." The Steward lost the last trace of his composure and fell to the floor in heap.

"... Where is she?" he asked his father gently as he picked his father up from the floor.

"Guards!" barked Denethor and for a moment Boromir thought that they meant to seize him. "Bring my son his wife."

She looked fraught and ashen, her hair fell in an unruly, black mass around her. Her eyes were half-closed and dull. When they brought her before him, she looked up into his face and began to weep uncontrollably. She did not know why she was crying exactly but she was. She touched his face hesitantly, touched it as though it were going to fade and waste away.

"What happened?" he asked, gingerly touching her bandaged shoulder.

With halting lapses, she told him of her journey through Moria. "Gandalf... He fell... He fell down with the-the Balrog." She spoke fleetingly and fondly of Lothlórien. And lastly she spoke of the Battle of Amon Hen. "I only wish you had been in my stead. The Orcs never would've gotten near the Wee Ones if you had been there." She fell into his arms and held him closely. He could feel the small swell of her abdomen and he felt new tears pricking at his eyes. "Poor Merry and Pip! The others are looking for them but I've no hope for them... And Sam and Frodo? _Ai,_ what will become of them? They cannot make the journey into Mordor alone!" She burried her face into his chest, ignoring the stink of horse and desperate for more of his touch.

"Hush now, my love. I am here now." He smoothed her dark hair down and kissed her forehead tenderly

Denethor looked as though he were going to retch, still sneering; Faramir could not hide his smile and the guards looked as though they wanted to be someplace else entirely.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

So, she got to play Damsel In Distress this chapter. Definitely not my favorite role for her. This was a rather short chapter after all. I'm off to bed now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 9**

**Disclaimer: **

_Emo Dad approves this chapter!_

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

**Umm**_**, **_I didn't really want to kill her or Boromir for that matter! Oh, no, I have plans... sort of? Thanks a bunch for reviewing again! Anyway, there's more talking in this one and perhaps certain references will be made to Liafael from The Rider( in the Women of Middle-Earth series. Go read them?). This is sort of the calm before the storm chapter so they're probably won't be epic sword-fighting scenes.

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><p>~Hungry man, reach for the book: it is a weapon.<br>Bertolt Brecht~

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><p>"Frodo!" Her voice was a rough whisper as she bolted up, tangled in-between the sheets. Her once keen eyes were now wide and frightened.<p>

"What happened?" he asked, voice thick with sleep and dreams.

"The Ring..." she murmured fleetingly. "I had it... I did such terrible things."

"It was only a dream."

"No!" There was that rough misery in her voice again. Her eyes had gone hollow as she laid back down. "No, my husband. It was what Almost Was, what Could Have Been... It tempted me at the Pass. I held it there in my hands and it spoke with your voice! I heard It's vile whispers in Lothlórien... It tempted me again at Amon Hen... I begged Frodo to give me the Ring. I went to my knees and I begged him to hand it over to me. And I frightened him. I frightened me!" She was trembling now as she spoke, her eyes closed, a hand on her forehead. "... He... He vanished. He put that Thing on his finger and he disappeared and now I do not know where he is or how to help him and Sam!... And what of Merry and Pippin? I do not wish to even think about what they are enduring now! And for what?" She clung to him, her whole body trembling and shaking with her muted sobs. He didn't know for what but if it really was for some bauble- _No. It is no mere trinket._, he told himself as he held her in his arms. When her weeping subsided, she looked at him, her face looking severe and thin.

"I know that look. What plan have you made now?"

She smiled one of those soft and seceret smiles. Well, if he wasn't worried before, he was now. "You make for Osgiliath tomorrow morning?"

"Aye..." His eyes narrowed down to slits. "Oh, no! You're not coming with me! You cannot-"

"Don't propose to tell me what I can and cannot do. And no, _that _was not what I have planned. There was... There is a _Dúnedan _in the Mark. That is... Well, there was. I do not know if she is still there now. Liafael is her name, I believe, and it would serve us both well, in the end, if I went. You know Gandalf sent me to Gondor those eighteen years past... And if I went, it would give you eyes and ears in Riddermark-"

"I want my eyes and ears here... Where it is safe!"

"But it is not safe here. Safe? What is that? I fear I do not understand that word anymore! No where is safe, _herven vell_(beloved husband)." She clasped his hands to her chest and he could feel her heart racing wildly. He had never been able to read the fear on her face so plainly. She moved his hands to her swollen abdomen. "Minas Tirith is not safe. Gondor is not safe. You can see how terrified I am and that makes it all the more terrible for me and for you."

"You've other reasons?" Suspicion laced his voice.

"Well, naturally. The Three Hunters... It is possible they will pass that way and I should like to help them in any way I can-"

"Help _me _by remaining in-"

"-No! I cannot. I will not, damn it! I will not wait here and hope you are alive! I can at least be of some use in the Mark."

He sighed heavily and pulled her closer to him. Oh, mercy, she could never be close enough to him. "I cannot stop you. I know that much but there is something wicked in the wall of Edoras-"

"-Perhaps not-" she interjected softly.

"Aelswyth, please, be safe. Stay out of trouble... if not for your own sake, than for our child's, for mine... Please?"

"I won't make any promises..." she began but her voice failed her when she found she could not jest any longer. "I will do my best, my love." she finished quietly and it was all she could do.

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><p>They said their farewells once again when they rose. She prayed it would be the last time they would ever have to part on such grim terms. He would leave later when the sun had fully risen with his host to claim Osgiliath once more and she was readying herself to leave now. In one of the saddle bags there was a letter which bore the seal of the Steward.<p>

"_Niro lim, Asfaloth_." Ride on, she ordered Glorfindel's white stallion to a healthy trot out of Minas Tirith. She did not look back. If she did, she felt her resolve would crumble and leave her in shambles. She could not put herself through that. She rode through the day but had to make frequent stops for various reasons. Either she was hungry or she had to make water. In any case, she felt it was going to take her twice as long to reach Rohan. Well, she was right.

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><p>The grass came nearly up to Asfaloth's belly and she could feel it rustling against her boots and whispering at her leggings. The sound was soothing and she closed her eyes, a hand resting at her own belly. It rather looked as though someone had stuffed her tunic with a child's ball. Luck or Fate, whichever she would have and she would have them both, led her to some Riders though she could not be certain if they were friend or foe. In the Mark, it was often difficult to tell though the Eorlings were wise and honest, they could also be willful and reckless. She pulled her bright Lady from its sheath and found it heavier than before. There were many of them though not so many as she thought. A hundred perhaps but no more and all were mounted and carried spears as was often the fashion of the Eorlings.<p>

"_Dhe suilon._" I greet you. Her voice did not betray her as she carefully dismounted Asfaloth, taking care to keep her cloak around her so they could not see her belly.

"We do not speak that language here, _Dúnedan_." said a tall man with long and wild golden hair from the saddle of his great dappled mount. It seemed the only thing to betray her were her looks. It was true enough though. All of her people seemed to look alike. All tall with dark hair and stern faces and gray eyes, their Númenórean flowing hot and strong through their veins. "If you are seeking shelter, you will not find it here."

"It is not shelter I seek, my Lord of Horse. How far to Edoras?"

He peered at her, his sharp eyes meeting hers. She could tell the measure of this man in a moment: Generous. Willful. Honest. A typical Man of the Mark.

"Your name and your business, stranger?"

"I am Aelswyth, daughter of Aeldir. I am a Ranger of the North. And you are..._stranger_?"

"I am Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark. What business do you have here?" he asked again, his jaw set. His face was careworn though his eyes were still bright and determined.

"I do not think it wise for me to tell you, _Éomundsson_. In much the same way it is not wise for you to tell me what is you do."

"Agreed." he said shortly. "You will find Edoras not far to the West of here but do not say that I did not warn you. Dark things are at work there. You will find it... changed, no doubt."

"Certainly and I would not expect otherwise." She paused breifly. "Tell me, son of Éomund, have you perhaps seen the Three Hunters? One is a _Dúnedan_, like myself. One is an Elf, fair and slender from the Woodland Realm. The third is a Dwarf, short and stout as all of Durin's Folk."

"They have passed this way as well, Aelswyth of the North, but it is not Edoras they seek."

"No, no, they're not." she said sadly, thinking of Merry and Pippin and wondering if they were yet alive. "In any case, you have been helpful, Third Marshall, and I will not soon forget it."

He nodded clearly disbelieving her. She waited till she saw the back of them before gently mounting Asfaloth and returning to the Road at hand. Edoras was not but two days ride from where she had met the Riders of Rohan. The Door Warden eyed her suspiciously, as though remembering her. She thrust her Lady into his hands and scowled.

"I've no more room for any other weapons aside from that one." she growled.

He stood aside reluctantly and allowed her to pass into the golden halls of Edoras. Though warm these halls were not. She felt a cold hand grip at her heart and squeeze just a little. As to Liafael, she saw no stern, familiar face, nor keen, gray eyes. So, it seemed, she was resigned to this hell alone.

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><p>She sought out Théoden-King but found only a worm with a vile tongue and his mad dogs. His eyes were cold as he held out his hand for the letter she so violently clutched in her hand. As she handed it over to him, she was grateful that they were not shaking. He read slowly, his mouth forming the words though no sound escaped his lips. Finally, he looked into her face, his eyes like pinpricks of fire and ice. She didn't like that look.<p>

"This bears the Seal of Gondor though not the hand of the Steward." he commented lowly.

"No, the Steward is not... of sound mind." She saw no point in lying though she was sure that was what he was going to accuse her of. His forked tongue flicked across his pale, thin lips. "His eldest son now sits on the Steward's Throne." Alright, one lie wouldn't hurt her. Boromir was acting as Steward in as much capacity as he could though Denethor still sat the Black Throne.

"But Denethor still lives; it is not allotted that his son sit his Throne-"

"The People of Gondor _allot _it well enough. You and yours should do the same." She met his gaze and suppressed a triumphant smirk. His face had fallen (if that was possible) and looked fifty years older than her now.

"Ah, ah, I remember your face now." He took a step closer and she took one back. He would not come any nearer to her.

"There you are!" called a voice she did not know. She turned to see a tall woman with long flaxen hair. Her face was pinched but her eyes were hard. Aelswyth though she bore some resemblance to Éomer, son of Éomund. "I have been looking every where for you!" The women, whom she did not actually know, took her by her elbow and led her away from the Wormtongue.

"Do not let him near you." the tall woman advised in a hurried whisper. "Or near your child."

"No. Never! I do not know how to thank you."

"That was thanks enough." she replied, casting her eyes behind them and searching through the crowd for any sign of the Worm. When there was none, she turned her hard eyes back to Aelswyth. "Éowyn, of Éomund." she added shortly.

"Aelswyth... of the North. You are Éomer's sister?"

"That is I."

"Then you are Théoden King's niece?"

She nodded warily. "What business do you have in Rohan?"

"I cannot say within these walls."

"Then you will come with me and we will go where there are no walls."

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><p>There were white flowers all around them. Evermind, she knew it was called, and it did not wither and die like other flowers and bloomed all through out Rohan on the graves of the fallen and especially upon those of the Kings of the Mark. Aelswyth picked one up and twirled it betwixt her fingers before giving it a tentative sniff. Fragant but not overpowering. She placed it behind her ear.<p>

"Here only the Dead may hear us." said Éowyn severely as they sat before the tombs of the Line of Eorl.

"And the Dead do not divulge their secrets as easily as the living. Aye, we are safer here than anywhere." Aelswyth took a moment before softly telling the Horse-King's niece of her intentions.

"Gondor sends a spy?" she barked fiercely, suddenly rising to her feet.

"No. Not Gondor nor my husband. I am come of my own accord and what your brother said to me when I entered this land only confirmed what I have believed for the longest." Again, she was not lying. Not exactly. Although, it wasn't very truthful either. So much had gone gray since Gandalf had placed her Gondor...

"And what would that be?"

"That the Worm is a spy for the Enemy. That Théoden King is not in his right mind."

The Shield-Maiden of Rohan met her stare and nodded almost imperceptibly. Aelswyth bid her to sit again but she would not.

"And what can you do that I cannot?" the Lady of Rohnad asked instead.

"I will think of something. I almost always do." _I just hope it does not get me killed.,_ she added as an afterthought. "Tell me do you know the story Faelwen?" She shook her head, hair turning to gold in the fading rays of daylight. "I thought not. It is of little importance in any case. Come. We must return before they think we have run off."

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

Another chapter I'm not too fond of myself but here it is. I squeezed in two references to the Women of Middle-Earth series. Please don't hurt me? I couldn't help myself on the last one there. Anyway, I've just discovered this whole Gríma/ Éowyn pairing... It creeps me out but I can't stop reading.


	10. Chapter 10

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 10**

**Disclaimer: **

_Ughn... Braaaaains...Braaaaaains... Om Nom Nom Nom... Oh, and any dialogue in italics is a quote directly from the book. Or it's Sindarin or Quenya._

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

As always, I have to thank **Naurwe **for all of her shout-outs and her feed-back! And **Umm** as well! Diggin' that name, by the way. Anyway, a bit of time has passed since the last chapter. I put it at a couple days. Nothing major but I didn't feel the need to include any mention of them... as yet. _Wollen Sie bitte rezensieren? _Or at least correct my awful German?

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><p>"Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories." Sun Tzu<p>

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><p>Aelswyth stood among the tall, lush, and green grasses and the glowing-white Evermind that dotted the plains. Asfaloth, tall and proud, stood at her side and prodded her shoulder with his velvet-soft nose. Above them, the sun shone down bright and warm and friendly. She took his headstall between her hands and pulled his face to hers, resting her head there a moment. He huffed air into her face and hoofed at the dirt. Smiling sadly, she released him and patted his rump affectionately.<p>

"_You have been gone too long, Asfaloth of Imladris, and seen strange things none of your kin are like to see again in this Age! Return home with your tales! Niro lim! Namárië!" _Ride fast! Farewell! With twist of his elegant, long body, she watched as he ran off, his tail like silver trailing behind his body. _I do hope he makes it back! I shall never hear the end of it from both Glorfindel and Boromir. _She turned back to the golden halls only to realize that Asfaloth had been heading East... Imladris lay not to the East but the North of the Mark. Then, laughter erupted from somewhere deep in her chest. He _was _heading home; he was going to Boromir! She wondered if he had made it to Osgiliath yet...

_There shall be a surprise for you then, won't there, love?_

She returned to the Barn to find a few new guests that she hadn't been expecting or more aptly had not been expecting so soon. Théoden sat upon his throne in all the garments of a King. His golden circlet rested upon his hoary head as he cast his wary gaze downward. Éowyn stood behind him, her hand clasped together, her face drawn. The Worm-or the Snake, more properly- sat Théoden King's feet like a dog. _He is a dog._..

"_Láthspell _I name you." the Wormtongue was saying as she took refuge behind a wooden pillar decorated with golden tapestries. Éowyn saw her before she could properly hide herself and gave her a tired smile. "Ill-news; and ill news is an ill guest, they say." He chuckled as though he had said something very funny but no one else seemed to think it humorous. The Hall fell deathly silent. The old man in white did not looked amused and neither did his companions. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas, she realized. _But where are Merry and Pippin? Have they not found them yet? Where could those dear boys have gotten to? What if they're-_

"_Therefore, be silent and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth." _There was a strength in the old man's voice that reminded Aelswyth of Gandalf but she could not see this man's face and from her vantage point she surely could have mistaken him for Saruman the White. "_I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man until the lightning falls._"Suddenly, the bent old man drew himself up to his full height and raised his staff. From above their heads, they all heard thunder roll across the sky and in the hall it became as though night had fallen. Even the fire had quenched and she felt a sudden cold hand grip at her heart once again. Only the old man could be seen, bright as sunlight in the dying glow of embers. She hear the Wormtongue hiss and then there a blinding flash. When her vision cleared, she saw that the Worm was sprawled on his back and she could not hide her smile.

They were dismissed shortly thereafter but Aelswyth tried to remain behind. The old man turned to her, a cheeky, little smirk on his worn features.

"There shall be no eaves-dropping here, my dear. Off you go with the rest of them or come out into the open." He spoke with Gandalf's voice. He glanced at her with Gandalf's eyes. He even had Gandalf's face. _Well, if it looks like a wizard, talks like a wizard, and walks like a wizard, the chances are good that it is, in all likelihood, a bloody wizard. _Frowning deeply, she stepped out from behind the pillar and flashed him one of her wide, cocky grins.

"I take back all the terrible things I ever said about, Gandalf. I didn't mean a one of them."

"No, you don't and you did mean them. That is why I am so awfully fond of you sometimes." He turned back to the King of the Mark and began to work his magic for magic it was though not entirely. The King of the Mark was returned to his rightful age. No longer was he bent over his stick. No longer were his eyes dim and clouded. No longer did his shouldersy seem to sag with such a weight burden and so he called for his nephew Éomer, son of Éomund.

Éomer wore no armor but bore his own fabled sword. "To lay at your feet, my lord." he had explained as he knelt down and held out his sword. Both men were as still as stone and as grim as a reaper.

"Will you not take it?" prompted Gandalf, his eyes shining like mithril and so the Horse-King took his nephew's sword slowly by the hilt. With it in his hands, he seemed a man brought to life.

"_Westu Théoden hál!_" cried the son of Éomund as his uncle returned his sword to him.

"_Take back your sword, sister-son! Go, Háma, and seek my own sword!_"

Now, the King of the Mark turned to Gandalf, the one his people called Grayhame though gray he no longer was. "What counsel do you have to offer me?"

"You have already taken it by placing your trust in Éomer rather than a man of crooked mind. As your nephew counseled you, every man that can ride west must. We must first destroy the threat of Saruman, while we have the time. _If we fall, we fail_ and if we succeed then we can face the next task. And the people you've left- your women and children and old- should fly to the refuges that you have in the mountains..."

And so Théoden-King gave the order and Aelswyth departed quietly, still wondering what had become of Merry and Pippin. She would ask later... when there was time.

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><p>She could not fall asleep and so instead sought out Aragorn. Kinsmen they were and they had grown close as siblings during their time in Lothlórien. He smiled but it was sad and did not seem to reach his eyes.<p>

"You cannot come with us..." he said before he said anything else.

"I know." she replied too quickly.

"You _will not _come with us." This time it was an order for he knew her far to well to make it a request.

"I had not intended to but-"

"This is not the appropriate time for jests."

She reached out and took his hands in her own. She squeezed them gently but did not let go of them. "What has become of the Wee Ones? Merry and Pippin, I mean?"

"They are... safe." he answered though he didn't seem to believe himself.

"I will take you for your word; I always have." She frowned deeply when she felt her child quicken. Like butterflies dancing around inside her; it was highly disconcerting, if not a little uncomfortable. Her hand went to her belly as though trying to protect the thing in there that she could not see.

"Why do you tarry here, _nithig_(sister)? You did all you could-"

"All I could was not enough. There is more yet for me, I fear-"

"_Av-'osto. Garo amdir."_ Do not fear. Have hope. Strange indeed did their words sound to the Eorlings who were no longer accustomed to such a language in thier halls. "_Return home_-"

"_My home is gone-_"

"_Your home lay in Minas Tirith with your husband."_

_"He made for Osgiliath a week ago. There is my home for there is my husband and my heart. You know I cannot abide in Minas Tirith." _

"_It will not be safe for you here._"

"_No place is safe. Not in these times._" She released his hands and rose to her feet. "Would that I could go with you or return to Osgiliath. A fray would do me well right now._ I know of your skill in battle but remain watchful._" She wanted to say much more but could not find the words. Instead, she stood and pressed her lips to his forehead. "_Remember who you are. Farewell, my brother, my king._"

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><p>When the Riders of Rohan departed with Gandalf, Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas riding among them, Aelswyth stood as tall and as proud as Asfaloth on the steps of the Golden Hall. Next to her stood the Lady of Rohan, clad in chain mail and wielding a sword. Her eyes were bright and fierce but Aelswyth could feel nothing but dread. They stood and watched the Riders untill the last one disappeared on the horizon.<p>

"Come, counselor! We have plans to draw!" And Èowyn drew her back into the Hall. There was much for them to do and so little time in which to do it. _And my time draws ever nearer..._

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><p>While Éowyn and Aelswyth began their preparations, all across Arda battles raged on and on but for in Osgiliath. In that once great city, a calm had fallen and an eerie silence blanketed both sides of the battlefield. <em>The calm before the storm... <em>His men were saying it an ill sign and even he thought defeat imminent.

"Captain!" a voice cried and drew him from his brooding reverie. "My captain!" A spry youth ran up to him. _He's no more than a boy... _A slim, sure-footed stallion came galloping in behind the young man. A laugh escaped his lips, loud and warm, as the stallion gamboled around him.

_He's a mind of his own, this one..._

Asfaloth nickered and bumped Boromir's shoulder. He seized the stallion's headstall and held him still a moment.

"_You _have come back to me but where is your rider with her bright hair flowing?" Asfaloth made no reply. _Horses can't talk... _But perhaps, if had looked only a little closer, he would have seen what burdens that the Elven-horse carried in his eyes. They were not his cares, for like his former masters he was light-hearted. Had the High Warden (yes, and the Captain and the Steward as well. It was all getting to be quite a mouth-full) looked closer he would have noticed... But he was a Man and he often over-looked smaller things and so he missed it entirely.

Asfaloth had come with battle hot on his hooves. It was not but a day later that Osgiliath was once more thrust into chaos and violence.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

A super short chapter for me! _Ai! _Mostly filler. What's up next? Well, stay tuned, folks!


	11. Chapter 11

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 11**

**Disclaimer: **

...

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><p>"They have bright colour, but are like a broken stained glass window reassembled without design. They are in fact "mad" as your reader says – but I don't believe I am." J.R.R. Tolkien on the names of his elves.<p>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

I'm introducing some new character in this chapter and some old I haven't made mention of yet. Also, I just got over 400 hits so my day got made!

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><p>The two women, one fair and the other dark, sat close in deep conversation. Many maps covered the long table and to the right of the dark-haired woman was a sword. It was sharp and seemed to glow in the dim light of the Meduseld. Suddenly, the fair-haired rose and began to pace like a caged warg. Her eyes were narrowed and fevered.<p>

"They do not have enough men, Éowyn ." the dark-haired woman said softly, her hand reaching to grab her companion. She only just missed her and let her hand and eyes fall back to the maps. "I do not doubt you _Eorlingas-"_

"There is a "but" there, I know, Aelswyth." interjected Éowyn wearily.

"Aye, there is... But with those numbers? I do not like those odds even if they do gather more men on their March."

"What do you purpose, counselor?"

"Send to Minas Tirith." But then Aelswyth shook her head quickly. "No, Faramir sits in Minas Tirith and he is much more level-headed than his brother. He would think before he acted. Send to Osgiliath for aid."

"What if help comes too late?" There was an eager light in her eyes as she leaned forward.

"Help can never come too late; it always comes when it is needed. A Rider to Osgiliath... and one to the North to seek out some of my kin... if they can be found. I do not know if they can though as we are not fond of strangers and too scattered perhaps to be reunited." She frowned, deep in thought, and shook her head as though she were shaking away a horribly daft idea.

"You cannot go; that would be-"

"Foolish, I know, and few would recognize me now. It has been twenty years since I was last among my kin. Send... Send Leola to the North. She is young and swift as a doe and looks well enough like one of the _Dúnedain_. And to my husband holding Osgiliath... send Rowenna. She is old, I know, but the hoary hair on her head makes her wise. He will heed her council well." She sighed heavily and rested her head in her hands. "This is tediously boring work we do."

"But necessary!" said Éowyn as she sent for Leola and Rowenna. It did not take the pair long to reach them. Leola was as tall as any woman among the Rohirrim though she was slender and pale with dark hair and blue eyes. Perhaps the blood of the Men of the West ran also through her veins. If Leola was tall, Rowenna was bent with age, her hair white as snow on a mountain top. Her eyes were nothing if not keen. The Lady of Rohan gave them their order and they departed.

"Wait! Rowenna, may I ask something of you?" The old woman nodded carefully. "Take this." Aelswyth said as she handed the her Lady over by the hilt. "Use it if you must but see that he gets it." Rowenna searched her eyes for a moment, smiled, then took the sword and sheathed before departing. Again, Éowyn and Aelswyth took to the stairs to watch their Riders until they could no longer see them.

"And now I must leave you." said Aelswyth with great thought. Éowyn flicked her gaze over and betrayed her entirely. "You are the Lady of Rohan, a sheildmaiden... and I can not sit idle while war wages."

"You intend to fight?"

"That would foolish. No, I cannot fight but I will at least be of some use. I can't swing a sword but I can still loose an arrow if I must."

"And you leave me here?"

"_Someone _must stay and these are your people. You are just and gentle. It is your place to lead them."

"I am caged here!"

"And you would have me caged with you?"

"No! I would go with you!"

"But who would command here?"

"Preparations have been made; our young, our old, our women... They are making for the mountains even as we speak." And what good it would do them, they could not say but sure enough, the remaining Horse-folk were leaving in small groups. Large enough to defend themselves but small enough that might escape notice.

"Then go with them; they need you."

"And _I _need _you_."

Aelswyth shook her head slowly.

"I suppose you shall need a horse." The Lady of Rohan could not hide her wide grin as she let out a piercing whistle and a painted mare was brought before them. Aelswyth began to laugh, a musical sound akin to that of her distant Elven-cousins. "I knew you would wish to go but I did not know when. She is old, this one, but she is as fast as any filly. May she carry you where ever it is you wish to go."

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><p>Leola rode for as far North as her horse could carry her in a day. She knew she had at least made it out of Rohan for she had already passed over the uncannily desolate banks of the Isen. When night had fallen, the round moon cast a silver glow upon the land and she had enough light to see her path. She dismounted her black courser and lead him by the reins along her night time path. She was ever looking over her shoulder and casting her glance in all other directions. Her whole body was held tense and her fingers played at the hilt of her dirk restlessly. She knew she was being watched, being followed but she made no move on her shadow. She could not actually see him and for all she knew she was wrong.<p>

"_Well_" she began in the language of the Eorlingas. It sounded not unitarily like the neighing of a horse. It had it's own sort of music but was otherwise strange and foreign, soft and strong much like the people who spoke it. "_It is time to rest, my old friend."_ As she was tying the black courser down, someone came up from behind her and grabbed her so quickly she did not know what was happening. A dagger flashed at her throat in the moonlight and she felt the cold metal press into her throat.

"No! Wait!" she cried desperately as she clawed at the hands and arms that held her.

"_Man le?_" querried her shadow but she did not know that language.

"I-I don't... I don't understand you."

"That is very dangerous in these parts. Tell me who you are and where you are going."

"I..." She cleared her throat, the dagger breaking her skin a little. She stiffened. "I am Leola. I am come from the Riddermark."

"What business do you have traveling these roads at night?"

"I cannot say!"

"Then, it is the Enemy you work for."

"No! My Ladies would very cross with if I told you and you were not the right peoples!"

"Which Ladies do you serve?"

"The White Ladies." she answered hesitantly. "I bear a message from the White Lady of Rohan and her counselor, Aelswyth of the North." The pressure at her neck suddenly disappeared but still her captor held her tightly. She brushed her neck with her hand and felt a drop of warm blood at her throat.

"What people do you seek?" he asked quickly, his voice a breath of wind on her ear.

"The _Dúnedain_."

"They are not the only ones then. We are few and scattered at that. What good would we be? No, do not answer." He released her from his hold and handed her the reins of her horse. "I cannot allow you to make your journey alone and you do not know the way, I fear. I will lead you." he muttered as he took the reins back from her. He placed himself in the saddle then offered his hand to her. A look of shock spread across her face as she stared at his proffered hand.

"Well?" he prompted with a small smile and bright, gray eyes. "Take my hand."

She grabbed his rough hand and he pulled her into the saddle in front of him.

"Hold on tightly; we'll be riding as fast as this horse can carry us. I am called Arradon..."

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><p>Rowenna's long, white hair streamed out behind her like a blanket of snow as she rode into Osgiliath. The clang of metal and cries of men-folk reached her ears with an unexpected familiarity. She <em>had<em> fought in her fair share of battles. _The Lady thinks it is just her who wishes to fight but long has my sword arm ached for battle... _And at her hip was the unknown blade _Narnimwen. _All great swords had names and this one was one them though not as widely known as it's brother-sword, _Narsil. _She drew it before entering the fray she drew the sword and let out a cry of her own.

She brought the blade down and hewed the head of an Orc in.

"Where is your Captain?" she asked the Men of Gondor that waged their battle around her. "I say, WHERE IS YOUR CAPTAIN?" Her strong, clear voice broke through the clanging and shouting and grunting. Every living being stopped and looked to her as though she were some forgotten warrior-goddess come down from the heavens to slay them all. Even the dead seemed to stir at her voice. A boy- _He has no beard, this one, and knows more of war than any other lad his age- _took her to his Captain. Behind them the battle continued. It seemed to her that the Gondorians were slowly making thier way through the ruined city. _Perhaps it can be done..._

The boy brought her to a tall, broad-shouldered man on a slim, white stallion shoving thier way through a small line of Uruk-hai. He fought surely as though he were ten men instead of just one. She slipped gracefully from the saddle, her feet barely making a sound as they landed on the slick ground. She brought out the sword she had been given and rushed into the fight, her teeth bared.

"That is my wife's sword!" growled Boromir, thinking the worst has come to pass. "How did you come upon it?"

"It is for you, Captain and High Warden. I come with a message from your wife in Rohan!" she called as his sword point suddenly thrust out beside her head and an Orc let out a howl and fell to the ground, dead. "Théoden-King is healed and has taken men to Hornburg for battle! She asks for men!"

"Then she shall have them! How many-"

"All of them. She requests you and all your men retreat from this fight-"

"And move onto another? I will not do it!"

"You cannot reclaim this City." Her voice was strangely calm as she separated an Orc's head from it's shoulders.

"I will not let it fall!" But even as he spoke he knew it had to be done. He gave the order to retreat to his men but they did not seem to understand him. Around him the battle went on. Gradually his order sunk and his men began to fall back. By night fall, they were out of the city and could hear the Servants of the Enemy cheering behind the ruins.

"We march for Rohan!" he commanded harshly as the bedraggled host began to grow uneasy.

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><p>Clad in the plate and metal of a man no one seemed to notice she was not who she said she was. And with her helm on, it was impossible to see her face. She was not Aelswyth of the North. She was Aeldir, her father risen from the grave, and that was the name she gave any whom asked her. Few seemed to wish to know and so it was only a few who called her that. It made no matter to her; she would answer to any name but her own.<p>

She was grateful though that she had yet to draw her sword. She stood upon the walls of the Hornburg, side by side with a great number of the Eorlingas( and a few Elves) and nocked an arrow in her bow. She waited patiently for the order to fire. Her heart hammered away frantically inside her chest as Aragorn gave the order. Her bow sang as her arrow went flying and the rain began to fall from the black skies above them...

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

I imagine this is a very stupid thing for her to be doing. Oh, why, do I do these things? _Ai!_ Well, Boromir's on the way... and Éomer... and Erkenbrand.

As to the names of my new characters:

Rowenna- Of Anglo-Saxon/Germanic origin. Meaning _white-haired._

Leola-Also of Anglo-Saxon origin. Meaning _deer, _in the sense of swiftness.

Arradon- Sindarin, this one is! Meaning _one without a path. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 12**

**Disclaimer: **

... I don't think I have to keep doing this.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

And so soon after the last chapter? I am on a roll! Well, I wanted to get it up as soo as possible. Okay, so I think I added like a month on to their time in Rivendell and their journey from there to Amon Hen was almost two months exactly. And the Battle of Helm's Deep only took like a day! A whole darn day; that's crazy short! I think, in the movies, it was five for dramatical purposes? Anyway, this is gonna be my last update 'til after the weekend... Probably?

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><p>Her heart soared when she saw Gandalf riding over the hill with Éomer and the men that followed him and even still did her heart sing to see the White Tree of Gondor emblazoned on banners a tall man riding a sure-footed stallion <em>behind <em>the orcs and uruk-hai. Sorrounded now every side, there was no hope for them. She loosed her final arrow and it struck true and sure. When the battle was said and done, she cast her helm aside, her dark hair falling loose and free. Down on the ramparts, she saw Boromir among his cheering men. _Where is Rowenna_? she wondered as she searched the host below her. She could not find the old woman anywhere and of Leola, she saw nothing as well. She rushed down from the wall, ignoring the shouts of the men as she raced by, and headlong into the mass. Boromir caught sight of her as she frantically searched among the fallen for the old woman.

"Enough, Aelswyth... She is gone." he murmurred as he came upon her, indicating a white-haired corpse nearby. Aelswyth hid her face in her hands but could not find tears to shed for the old woman. "Now, tell me, what foolishness is this? You in battle? It should not be so!" His voice was rough and harsh but his eyes were gentle.

"I could not sit by and-and just wa-You're bleeding." she said as though wondering at the blood that dripped down the side of his face.

"Only a scratch. I know how this must be for you-"

"-No, you cannot know!" He took her tenderly into his arms. It had felt like an eternity when he had last held her but he knew it was not so. "What have I done? If I had not sent her to you, she would be alive..."

"You do not know that for certain. She could have perished some other, less glorious way. She died as she lived and that is all we can say for her. May she have her peace in death."

"Aye but what has become of Leola?" she asked herself softly. "I sent her on a fool's errand and a fool it has made me." She knelt down on the slick ground and turned Rowenna over. She shut the old woman's eyes and then rose to her feet.

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><p>"What were you thinking?" seemed to be the question everyone was asking her. The truth was... was that she hadn't been.<p>

"You should not have-"

"I know!" she interrupted Aragorn quickly. She immediately regretted her outburst and hung her head in shame. "I know..."

"I would have commanded you... But that would have done nothing if not defy me..." He sighed heavily, his frown deepening. "Sometimes I look at you and see myself. And other times, I look at you and see your father. I do not know which I prefer..." Again he sighed and heavy weight seemed to fall upon him.

A brooding silence came crashing down on them as he turned his back to her and it was a long while before he spoke again.

"You sent a second Rider out?"

"Aye... I did. Leola-" He held up his hand for peace and her mouth closed quickly.

"Where did you send her?"

"It is not so much a "where"... I sent her to the North; she goes to gather the _Dúnedain _together. As many as she can find or as many that will come."

"That was foolish, indeed."

"I know." she mumbled, feeling like a child who had been caught red-handed. "I only hope she comes out of this alive."

"You will not follow us to Isengard-"

"-I will so-"

"Now is not the time to behave like a child. You are carrying one, not becoming one." The edges of his stern mouth quirked up and she realized her was telling a joke... or trying to. "You shall return to Minas Tirith. It is the safest place for you."

"Are you asking me to? Or are you ordering me to?"

"What difference does it matter? You will go. Before this day is done, you will depart here and ride to Minas Tirith... ... Is that understood?" He turned now to face her and she saw his iron-will reflected in his eyes.

"_Ben iest gîn." _As you wish.

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><p>Arradon did not cease their travel even when that poor black courser was exhausted. Instead, they dismounted and let the poor beast of burden go to either die in peace or live on yet. Leola was sad to see him go; he had been her horse since she was a girl and like of her people she knew him better than most ever cared to know a horse.<p>

"How much-?" she began but he hushed her softly and they continued on in silence.

"We are close now." he said after some time and he tied a strip of dark cloth around her eyes. "A precaution, you understand?"

She nodded as he took her by the elbow and continued to walk a winding path. Soon she heard many voices and the laughter of children.

"_Who is that you have, my son?_" called a voice she did not know in a language as foreign to her as her own must be to them. She hear Arradon laugh and her heart gave a little flutter. _Stop that! _she told her thrumming heart. _Stop that now! _

"_She claims to have a message for us, father!_" was his quick reply as he pulled her through a throng of children.

"_She stinks of horse!_" one complained loudly but was silenced by his mother.

"Come." Arradon ordered in Westron as he pulled her roughly into an inn and up many stairs.

"_And who have you brought now?_" asked a man's deep voice.

"_Leola of the Riddermark. She comes with a message-_"

"_Tell her she will have to wait behind the Twins; they came here first._"

"_But, Halbarad, she is in desperate need-_"

"_Everyone is in desperate need these days, lad. Who does she come for?_"

"_Aelswyth of the North and the White Lady of Rohan."_

"_Aelswyth? She was but a babe when I last saw her... I will hear this one then_." The man, Halbarad, cleared his throat. "Speak, girl, and say what you must."

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><p>"I can't do this, Sam." said Frodo Baggins in a small, weary voice. All around them war waged on and on and on.<p>

I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come..."

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Okay, so I don't own that last little bit but I felt I had to include. Sean Astin got robbed of an Oscar for that scene alone!


	13. Chapter 13

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 13**

**Disclaimer: **

_..._

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><p>"The perfect crime was committed last night. When thieves broke in to Stormwind Keep and stole all the toilets. Gaurds say they have absolutely nothing to go on." A GM joke from WoW. One of the better ones.<p>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

_Lucky Thirteen. _I can't believe I've made to chapter 13! Yeah!

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><p>Leola said her peace in a near mumble. Everyone was so tall and stern looking that she couldn't seem to find her voice. Then the Elves spoke and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She had not noticed them before and why she could not say<em>. Magic, they's got. Da' said so. <em>But her father had never seen an Elf and she could not take her eyes off of them. It didn't matter; their message was the same as hers. The _Dúnedain _were needed by thier chieftain in Rohan. Halbarad did not needed to think much, it seemed, for not a moment had passed after the Elven twins had spoken that the man had made his decision. He had realized there was no other course of action. His chieftain and kinsman was calling and he must answer.

"We have no other course, it seems, other than to make for Rohan. We will ride at dawn. Arradon, stay with me a while, lad." He then turned his keen gray eyes to Leola and the Elven Twins. "And perhaps you three would suffer our hospitality a little while longer yet?"

"We should not." answered the Twins in frightening unison. So alike were they that it was hard for her to tell the two of them apart. They were both tall and slender but not without strength. Their hair was dark and their eyes were sharp and grey.

"Other errands call us." concluded one of them severely though both their faces grim and startling.

"But we would ride with you to Rohan." finished the other just as severely.

"And you, lass? You'll want to return to your home not doubt but I would not have you travel these roads at night." His cast his look Arradon's way, a fleeting smile tracing the lines on his face into a happy familiarity. "Whether you had an escort or no." he added as though it were afterthought but by Arradon's long-suffering look she could tell there was more thought in it than most things this tall man ever said. She gave Arradon a soft smile.

"I-I will stay as... as I've little choice in the matter." she said after clearing her throat. Halbarad dismissed the trio with a curt nod. Arradon's long-suffering smile faded as soon as the door was closed and she could not hear the conversation.

"And you have found your voice at last, _pen-dhínen(_silent one)!" said one of the twins in a soft, sighing voice once they made it into the streets of _Estelmist_.

"We could hardly hear you." said the other which she knew was probably a lie. Elves... Her da' had said they could hear everything. Ever beat of your heart. Every sound ever made... They could hear your thoughts, he said. _Da' was daft as could be. _But she could not stop staring at them. They were... beautiful. Could men be beautiful?

"She seems to have lost it again just as quickly, Brother."

Very carefully, she stood on her tip-toes and reached her hand up to touch one their delicately pointed ears. A hand stopped her and her breath caught in her throat. It was strong and sturdy but surprisingly light and gentle.

"That is not... advisable, _pen-dhínen(silent one)_." said the one who held her by her wrist. His gray eyes were sharp and bright.

"...I'm-I'm sorry. I've... I've never met an Elf before."

"Well... Now, you have met two." said the other quietly.

"Ah but which is which?"

They turned to look at each other and shared identical grins. She did not know which she was more in love with in that moment.

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><p>While Leola debated over her girlish affections, one of Rowenna's many grandson's saw to her burial. Aelswyth could see the smoke of the funeral pyre if she turned her head just so. She would be burned to cinders and then buried with her most valued possessions. It was done so by the common folk in Rohan. There would be a great feast to happen at some later date when this war could be put behind them or to the side for a moment of peace. She rode Shadowfax with Gandalf and the ride was more than bumpy but she would not complain. She could not, as she saw. <em>Is this how Èowyn feels? Caged like a bird and bid to sing? <em>She had been given most of her life to do as she wished and now she found herself with no other option than to do as she was told. She _would not_ jeopardize this child even if it meant returning to Minas Tirith. Gandalf... He had said there would be more? She could not recall the exact conversation but it seemed to her that he had.

"_I amar prestar aen(the world is changed)..."_ she murmured, recalling the Lady Galadriel's words when she was in Lothlórien. The world was changed, indeed, and changing still. She hadn't felt it then but she felt it now. She felt it the earth, strong but yielding. She felt it in the water, always flowing from one place to another, circulating. She could smell it in the air. Like war and blood, both of which had been made but the day before.

And while she rode for Minas Tirith, the Men in and of the Riddermark celebrated their victory at Helm's Deep. _They're celebrating their dead, _Boromir realized a few hours into the antics. As great as his joy was, he could not join them in their celebrations. _We should be riding for Gondor_... And yet... And yet he was not.

"_I know what path he intends to take, what way he himself does not yet seem to acknowledge..." she said softly, her grey eyes distant and cold. "And the Dead do not suffer the living to pass it..."_

_"And what would you have me do?" He should not have even asked. He already knew the answer._

_"I would have you do what you know you should do."_

_"...No_."_ he said suddenly. "I would not take that Path even if I had no other option... But you would have me do just that."_

_"I would." she said without a moment's pause. "I would ask you to do it in my place, to do it for me because I cannot." _

"You look greatly troubled, my friend." said Aragorn- _Isildur's Heir!- _softly.

"That I am." he replied stiffly. Aragorn was tall, taller than any man in the Mark save for Éomer, and carried himself as a king must. A wan sort of smile came upon his stern features.

"... What has she asked you to do?" he asked, still speaking in his quiet tone of voice.

"What she would do if she could..."

"That is a decision I have yet to make; she should not ask so much."

"It is not so much." he answered carefully.

"Not _so _much yet but later... Later it will seem so." he murmured. "You would go to Gondor's aid?"

He nodded carefully. "I would." he added after some time.

"Then, go to your people. I would not keep you at my side for Aelswyth's sake. She worries too much about the things she cannot change-"

There was a commotion coming from outside and Boromir was eager to draw his sword again.

"Who rides in Rohan?" he heard one of the Horse-lords bellow, as was their fashion. He and Aragorn rushed out to see a company of no more than thirty-five. They were all grim and tall, each one looking more like Aragorn than the next, save for a young woman riding in the front. _Leola_, he understood though he did not know her. She had that tall, blue-eyed Rohanese-look and stood out enough among the gray-clad company.

_"_Leola, milord. Of the Mark. Where is Aelswyth of the North? Let her see here today that her kinsman came."

"She has departed for Minas Tirith." answered Boromir, sheathing his sword. _Her sword. _He was holding it for her, nothing more.

"Halbarad! Of all joys this is the least expected!" came Aragorn's voice as embraced one of the _Dúnedain_.

He watched with wary eyes as Leola and one of the Gray Company entered the hall. He did not know why but he did not trust these rangers and the fair-eyed Leola looked quite at home with them. At least, with the one who called himself Arradon. He seemed more uncomfortable than anyone else. It was as though the walls were too much for him.

And then there were his men... So many questions that he did not have to answer to yet. _I supose I shall have to make it soon..._

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><p><em>Plans within plans within plans... with more plans. What game does he play at? <em>she wondered as she watched Denethor closely. Faramir had been sent to Osgiliath with paltry forces. Nearly half the men he had given Boromir and she wondered why Faramir had relented his hold of Minas Tirith? _Because... Because it was asked of him, _she reminded herself as she furrowed her brows.

_"What was I to do, fair stranger?" asked Faramir, a smile playing at his familiar features though it refused to reach his eyes. "He is my father and still the Steward though I run the City best as I can without his notice. Try as I might, it seems I can do nothing right."_

_"No more of that talk, little brother. I was short with you and should not have been. How many men has he given you?" she asked, the curiosity shining in her eyes_

_But he did not answer. He turned and walked away slowly down the long hallway..._

And now she watched him leave with a heavy heart. Boromir had been given twice the men ten years prior... _We all know who their father prefers. But what of the people? _The young women swooned, the old men wailed. She shook her head and pressed her palm to her forehead. Exasperation wore clear on her face even though she was trying to hide it.

"He will return." promised Gandalf though he looked grave and careworn.

"He will fail. He does not have the men and the ones he does have are battle-wearied and old. What was he thinking?" And neither of them could ever hazard a guess.

A herald came tromping up to them, his chain mail clinking and clattering in a unpleasant music. They were being summoned.

Her stomach gave a little, nervous flutter as she and Gandalf ascended to the White Tower. She did not know what awaited her inside and did not want to know but the doors swung open anyway. She looked to Gandalf but found no comfort in his ever-grim countenance. With a firm set to her mouth, she walked through the doorway.

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><p>"I will not walk the Paths of the Dead with you." Boromir said quietly to the Ranger chieftain.<p>

"I did not think you would." he said softly as he nodded his head toward the messenger from Gondor. "It seems your decision was decided for you." _And all for the better, _Boromir added to himself quietly.

"Aye. We ride 'ere the break of day with half the Rohirrim with us. If Minas Tirith is in any danger..." But his voice trailed away as Leola's loud laugh erupted from somewhere along the hall. There could be no guessing as to who she was with. He shook his head and wandered away, left to wait the break of day on his own. Through a high, arched window, he could see the stars and in those stars he found no solace. The first night before he had departed for Osgiliath he didn't know how many years ago now, he had found Aelswyth. She always seemed to be around... Time had touched her lightly as he understood it... _She looked like some Elf-maiden of the Old Tales, with her hair dark and wild around her shoulders. She had been sitting before the White Tree, the guards looking on. In the dim, silver glow of the stars, she looked glorious. He could hear her singing softly in the Elven-tongue which ran something like this in the Common Tongue:_

_"_An Elven-maid there was of old

Though now her tale is hardly told

Her laugh was fierce; her eyes were bold

And in her voice, molten-gold

What manner of woman is this? _he wondered. He did not know he had spoken those very words aloud. _

_"I didn't see you there." she said faintly as she cast her gray glance his way. The stars were reflected in her eyes and her smile shone brighter than any sun, than any moon. _

"Captain?" said a voice he did not wish to hear. "Milord Captain?" He gave a short nod. Had so much time passed already? He looked to the window again to see the pale fingers of dawn's light racing and arching through it.

"Gather the men. Tell them we ride now for Minas Tirith... We make for home."

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

This came a little later than I would've liked but here it is :p


	14. Chapter 14

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 14**

**Disclaimer: **

...

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><p>"Here lies one whose name was writ in water." On the grave of John Keats<p>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>Fourteen chapters now! I might just drag this out to twenty :)(:

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><p>"I could go with you!" whispered Leola, her eyes suddenly downcast. Arradon smiled sadly though quite softly.<p>

"No_, pen-dhínen_. These Paths we take... It will be beyond dangerous and you are too dear to me." he said as he took her hand and kissed it. "I would not got myself if I did not take an oath-"

"Break it." She sounded terrified and desperate; she sounded as though there was no other option.

"I would not. That is worse than death. I would rather die on a sword than break an oath."

"It is foolishness! I can wield a sword as good as any man! Let me go with you."

"No. This is your place and these are your people. Stay here." He brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed her brow softly. "Stay here and stay safe. Who knows what will happen? Perhaps..." But he turned away from her when Halbarad called his name roughly. She too turned away, unwilling for any to see the tears that she knew she would shed. So, she ran...

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><p>Asfaloth did not seem to tire as easily the horses of the Mark or those still remaining from Gondor. He was swifter, surer of foot, and anxious. Boromir could feel that radiating through the saddle. Or perhaps it was him who was anxious. Every time he looked to the horizon, he expected to see smoke or some sign that Minas Tirith had fallen. He was grateful that there had been none... so far. He did not remain optimistic. Things could never go well for very long.<p>

He urged the men onward, full of a new found confidence. Théoden-King rode but half a day's travel behind him; the City would stand as it had done for a thousand years. It would not fall... It could not fall. And then he smelled it. Blood and smoke mingled in the air and a faint wind sifted the scent through his hair. He turned Asfaloth around but his men knew it was not in him to run.

"Do you smell that? That is the stench of our Enemy's defeat." His voice rose above the din with a certain and sometimes frightening ease that he had come to revel in. "That reeks of death and bloodshed and those who long for peace would call us warmongers but I would say to them that it is the soldier who yearns for peace. It is the soldiers that bears the deepest scars and the greatest losses... Do you hear them? They are clamoring for our heads! But we will not give them what they desire for they deny us our victory!"

"Victory!" the host reverberated joyously. "Victory!"

"And we will have our victory! Victory at any expense! Victory despite whatever scourges are sent our way! Without our victory, all will fall! And in falling, we have failed!" He laughed a terrible, rough, hoarse laugh, his head tossed back and his eyes shone with defiance. "We will put them to the walls of _Rammas Erechor! _We will put them to the sword in Pelennor Fields! We will fight to the last man if we must!"

With the men behind him cheering "Victory!", he turned Asfaloth back around and spurred the white stallion ever onward.

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><p>Denethor did not seem to remember her properly, did not seem to know her name. <em>He thinks I'm his wife<em>. Gandalf he knew and did not wish to see. Gandalf who was promptly dismissed despite whatever warning he could muster. Aelswyth would've been fond of his company right about now. Denethor looked to her, his eyes grim and startling. Then reality came crashing down on the poor man and she could feel nothing but pity for him. He had seemingly lost everything and what control was left to him was swiftly slipping from his hands.

"Get out! Get out! Go and leave my side... She haunts me still." His voice was barely above a whisper as he rose to his feet. "Leave me now; I do not wish to see you."

"No... I-I-" As she stumbled to find some excuse, the streets rose up in a clamor.

"Faramir!" they were calling. "Faramir! Faramir!"

She looked to the Lord of the City and prayed that nothing had happened to Faramir. She prayed they were _cheering _his name, his victory. Not crying over his body. _Little brother_, she thought, for she would always think of him as such, as she rose quickly to her feet and walked out into the streets. Through the Gates, there came a small, desperate band of Gondorian soldiers. Some looked to be just as bad off as thier fallen commander. She felt her heart grow weak she saw Faramir laid out on a stretcher. She had seen the dying before but this, she told herself, was different. This was her husband's brother, her brother, the uncle of her unborn child. _This is Faramir_, she thought as she wove frantically in between the crowd. When she came to his side, she knelt down but spoke to his men.

"The battle... is going poorly?" she querried as she took Faramir's cold hand into hers.

"No, lady! Boromir and his forces arrived just so and Théoden-King is close behind!"

"Someone must tell the Steward-" another began.

"I will if someone would bear Faramir up for me." With that said, she promptly turned away, with two men-and Faramir born between them-behind her.

Denethor looked upon his youngest son's face but Aelswyth could not judge his state. She opened her mouth to speak but she could not find the proper words to say. She could see Faramir's mouth moving in soft, slow motions as though he were trying to speak but it was fever dreams he saw, heard, and felt. Like a warped mirror, Denethor too mouthed words but these she faintly heard:

"_I can feel dark winter's chill_

_As my heart grows weak and still_

_Do what you will_

_But lay my body upon that hill_"

She knew the poem well enough. At least, she knew part of it well enough. The Lay of some Elf or other. She could not remember the Elf's name and now it did not seem to matter. Denethor rose to his feet and seized her by her arm; he was still muttering and growling to himself. Then, suddenly his voice grew loud.

"You are dismissed, Aelswyth, daughter of Aeldir; your services here are no longer required. Surely that other son of mine is around here. Find him and tell him his father is dead. Tell him his worthless brother is dead and the City falls to him." He threw her out of the doors and she caught herself by her palms. She felt butterflies swarming in her belly as she rose to her feet. _Shhhh_ she soothed the child softly. _Everything will be okay, little one. _

"_We will burn like heathen Kings before ever a ship sailed from the West! The West has failed! Go back and burn!_" She could hear him bellow through the doors. She rose to her feet and pounded on the doors breifly to no avail. She ran out into the streets to find them filled with chaos. Women and children were running about to find shelter and finding none they weeped and wailed. Soldiers were fighting Orcs and Uruk-hai. Above her, she heard the piercing cries of the ring wraiths and their flying... creatures.

"Boromir!" she called as she tore through the streets of unsteady feet. "Boromir! Boromir!"

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Another short one. Okay, so, I adapted Boromir's little speech from a few more famous ones. Can anyone tell me? There are three speeches. Two of them were made by the same guy.


	15. Chapter 15

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 15**

**Disclaimer: **

... ... ... The voice in my head are mad. They won't tell me why but I suspect it has something to do with the rights to all things Tolkien related.

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><p>"Pound's crazy. All poets are. They have to be. You don't put a poet like Pound in the loony bin." Ernest Hemingway on Ezra Pound.<p>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Thanks to Naurwe (and her sister now) for all of the reviews and the help with this chapter!

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><p><em>"Boromir!" she called as she tore through the streets on unsteady feet. "Boromir! Boromir!" <em>All around her the streets were swarming with the Servants of the Enemy. Her hand ached to hold a sword again but one look down and she knew it wouldn't be happening any time soon. Frowning, she continued to frenetic search through the streets. Her way was littered with bodies and she continued to call Boromir's name for all the good it did her. When she was ready to relent, she heard the distinct neigh of Asfaloth.

"Boromir!" she cried as she weaved her way in between the fraught fray. He turned Asfaloth about and his eyes were on fire. Battle coursed through his veins as surely as blood did. He thrust her own sword through the skull of an Orc and its black blood ran down his chin and neck. He kicked the misshapen corpse away and rode up to her. She rested her head against the white stallion and her hand fell to Boromir's knee.

"Go back, Aelswyth! Go back to the Tower!" he urged her, looking around them wildly, waiting for the next attack. His sheild arm stiffen then came crashing down on a fleeing Orc. "Now!"

"Faramir! He's going to burn Faramir in the Hallows!" Even she knew how she must sound. _Mercy, I sound like a terrified, lost, little girl! _"We have to stop him! Faramir's still alive!" Boromir pulled her into the saddle ahead of him and held her close to him. With a little squeeze, Asfaloth took off down the streets as though he had been born on them. Swift and sure-footed, they arrived in due time. Boromir sprang from the saddle, Aelswyth close behind him.

"I...I tried to get back in but the doors..."

He turned to her, his eyes still fiery and fierce then all together soft and tender. He ran his hand down her face. "Stand back" was all he said. He gave a sharp, high whistle and Asfaloth came to their aid. With a toss of his snowy mane, he reared up and pawed at the great, wooden doors until they came crashing open.

"Cease this folly, Father!" Boromir nearly snarled as he went passed Asfaloth and the guards. "Faramir lives yet!" He climbed on top of the pyre to stand tall beside both his father and brother.

"_The house of his spirit crumbles! He is burning ... already burning._" Aelswyth took a few steps forward but Denethor's fevered gazed flashed on her. "...She haunts me still..." He moaned and weeped like a child, his eyes now shut against the world. He still held the flaming torch in his hand but it seemed to be slowly slipping from his grasp.

"Father!" came Boromir's voice as though she were in some fever-dream. She could see the torch sliding from Denethor's hand; it fell as though it would never reach the pyre. It did reach the pyre though and then the kindling caught a flame. Smoke began to billow out the doors. Asfaloth pranced and whickered as Boromir grabbed his younger brother and pushed him off the pyre. As Aelswyth hastened to Faramir's side; he had taken to flame just as the pyre had. For a few agonizing moments, it didn't look as though Boromir was going to get away from the flickering flames in time. He seemed to be offering his hand to his father.

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><p>Arradon kept their spirits up through the Paths of the Dead despite his own melancholy. All he could think about was Leola and when he did his heart gave an unintentional little flutter.<p>

"_What is it?_"came Gimli's strained voice from somewhere up ahead. "_What d'you see_?"

"_I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night. The Dead are following._" Legolas answered in that musical voice all Elves seemed to posses.

"_Yes._" came the equally musical though slightly deeper voice of Elladan. "_The Dead Ride behind._"

"_They have been summoned._" concluded Elrohir grimly, his hard features (though not without a certain attractiveness, Arradon would admit) a mask of... well, grimness. He was like his Lord Father in that one respect, at least.

"_I fancy a song_, _Dúlindir." _Elladan said after a small time walking in an uneasy silence. _Dúlindir. _Nightingale, the Elven Twins and most of their kin and kith, called him. For like a nightingale, he could sing such lovely, old laments but was of higher spirits, higher than any bird dare fly. Except perhaps for the great Eagles.

"_Name it and you shall have it, gwador vell(sworn brother)_."

"_The Lay of Faelwen? Are you familiar with her tale_?" It was Elrohir who spoke now. The twin sons of Lord Elrond seemed to have minds that ran parallel with the other.

"_I know parts of it._" he replied. _Part _was not entirely true. He thought he could _hear_ them both smile.

"_Then parts of it will have to do._" came Elladan's voice now.

"_A Elven-Maid there was of old_

_Though now her tale is hardly told_

_Her laugh was fierce; her eyes were bold_

_And in her voice, molten-gold..._

_She took up her fabled sword_

_And rode off to war with many a-lord_

_On her silver horse of dawn she soared_

_And her Enemies she gored..._"

Arradon's voice faltered as a chill ran down his spine. He apologized profusely. "_I'm sorry; I can't seem to remember the rest_."

"It is no matter." one of them said though which he could no say for it grown too dark for him to discern their faces. Arradon opened his mouth to ask what was probably a futile question but Halbarad hushed him.

"We're at the Hill of Erech now, lad." was his father's muttered reply.

He could see faint outlines all around them. Vaguely they resembled men. The pale, waxing shadows of the oath breakers. Aragorn dismounted his horse and stood beside the Stone that sat there buried in the hill. Surely it was as large as any man.

"_Oath breakers, why have ye' come?_" the Heir of Isildur cried in a loud voice and it was the voice of a King that he spoke with.

"_To fulfill our oath and have peace_." answered a voice from out of the night and mist as though it were some distance and some time away. Still, the young Ranger could see the faraway shapes of ghastly men.

"_The hour is come at last! When all the Servants of the Enemy are cleansed from this Land, I will hold your oath fulfilled and ye shall have peace and depart for ever! For I am Elessar, Isildur's heir of Gondor._"

And then Arradon unfurled the banner he had been bid to hold. It was as black as the darkness around them and if their was some device upon it none, save the Dead and Elves perhaps, could see it. A silence fell down upon them and when the Grey Company passed from the Paths of the Dead, they were followed. The Dead had been summoned and their oath would be fulfilled.

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><p>Aelswyth felt her hands sting and throb as she patted the flames that had Faramir partially engulfed. She looked back to the pyre with a long and agonized look.<p>

"Boromir!" she yelled, unable to stop herself from calling out to him. He hesitated a moment longer and in that moment his father took to the flames like he was a piece of kindling. With a cry of his own, Boromir launched himself from the pyre. Denethor let out the most horrendous sound the Hallows had ever heard and ever would hear. He ran from the Hallows and out. His screams followed him out into the ground far below them.

"He lives yet!" Boromir exclaimed as he tended to his own self. "You have saved him!"

"But... your father..."

"Say nothing more; we will have time to speak later for there will be a later now." He took his hands into her and she winced slightly. He held them open and saw her skin had gone white on her palms and fingers. "Your hands!" He pulled her to her feet and then ordered two of the White Guards to pick his brother up.

"Gently now! And easy!" he ordered as Aelswyth leaned on him, the pain in her hands nothing more than a low prickle.

"It doesn't hardly hurt at all." she whispered before her world turned black and she felt Boromir's strong arms wrap around her.

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><p>Another thanks is in order to Naurwe! Yes, for all her distractions and her tales of the Women of Middle-Earth! GO! READ THEM NOW! Ahem. CoughCough. Ahem. Faelwen is the protagonist in one of her stories, btw.<p> 


	16. Chapter 16, or the Departure of Asfaloth

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 16**

**or the Departure of Asfaloth**

**Disclaimer: **

... ... ... I don't own! So nobody sue!

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><p>"Don't look. I didn't. Of course I looked." from <em>House of Leaves <em>by Mark Z. Danielewski

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

**Umm,** You reviewed again! Yay! Thanks! I was wondering where you'd gone! As to Faelwen, I don't know that I'll actually be putting her in the story (unless I have express permission of course. Written and signed... twice with all the i's dotted and t's crossed) but there were probably be more mentions of her as I like doing that and pretty poems make me happy. And probably some mentions Liafael and Dyantha as they are both Dúnedain as well.

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><p><em>"It doesn't hardly hurt at all." she whispered before her world turned black and she felt Boromir's strong arms wrap around her. <em>

_"_Aelswyth..." she heard name called over and over again in a soft, calm voice. _Aragorn_. She would know his voice anywhere. She could feel his hands, flowing and smooth. It was often said of the Kings of Old that their hands were the hands of a healer. She could smell the light, sweet scent of _athelas_ and felt herself calm instantly.

"_Aran vell...N'uir thiad gîn 'ell._" Beloved King... Ever is your presence a joy. She slowly opened her eyes and the haggard face of her King came into view. She tried to sit but his hands gently pushed her back down to the cot.

"_No, you must rest... Your healing is only half begun._" He sounded tired beyond anything and her heart ached for him. There would be much healing to be done in the days following the War.

"_I don't think I'll be able to rest again untill this War is done and over with. Please, where is my husband? And Faramir? Is he well? And the Wee Ones? Is there any word of Frodo and Sam?_"

"_Peace! All your questions will be answered but now is the time for rest_."

Sighing heavily, she let her head fall back and her eyes closed. She had to most lovely dream but she could not recall it later when she woke up. All she knew was that she was happy and things were peaceful. _This Shadow will pass..._

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><p>Boromir sat and listened to the debate that was already so much like a war. He did not know what to say and even if he did, he doubted his council would be appreciated. He glanced at each of the men (and Elves and Gimli son of Glóin) gathered around him. <em>Mordor ought to be quaking with fear, <em>he gathered now around him were the greatest of lords and strongest of warriors and he would not wish to anger this council.

"_We come now to the very brink, where hope and despair are akin_." spoke Aragorn after some time. "_To waver is to fall_. And to fall is to fail... Let none reject the counsels of Gandalf, who has labored long against Sauron. _But for him, all would long ago have been lost_. _Nonetheless I do not claim to command any man. Let others choose as they will_."

The twin sons of Elrond gave him their allegiance. As did the Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Naturally Éomer did as well.

"I will go." Boromir said with great care as he glared down at the ruined streets below them. "You have saved my home and healed my wife. And if that were not enough I hold you to be my liege-lord if you would claim it or not. I will go." he said again with a slow nod.

"But first, my friend, go to your wife. She is worrying again." His worn face creased into a mild smile.

_Can't have that, _he thought with a short nod as he took of his leave of the morose council. He found her sleeping and almost did not have the heart to wake her. She stirred and shifted in her sleep then sat up slowly, a pensive smile playing at her face.

"I was having the most wonderful dream... But I can not hardly recall it now. Here, husband, help me up; I fancy a walk."

"Is that wise?"

"Not as such, no, but I am going mad cooped up here with those three. The Little Ones are... busy with elvenses and tea time. They eat an awful lot for ones so small. No time for me, it seems. Faramir and Éowyn are making doe eyes at one another and whispering sweet nothings. I can't have sweet nothings. I want to hear about war and violence and bloodshed... Is that too much to ask for?"

He beamed down at her and pulled her up delicately by her elbow as both her hands were still wrapped.

"We won't go too far..." he advised her gently.

"No but tell me you have some news to bring me? I must know something... I am not used to being so... so..."

"So what?" he pressed as he lead her carefully out of the Houses of Healing. The streets were far from unsoiled but they were safe... for now. And for that, he was grateful.

"Weak. I've never been weak or helpless. I could take care of myself once, you know. I could wield a sword better than most and I could nock a bow near as quick as an Elf. I could sit a horse without complaint... I went where I wanted to and fought for whoever needed the fighting to be done." She shook her head as she glanced at the destruction about her. It seemed as though every level of the White City had been touched by the siege. "I can't do that now and I don't like it."

"You're not weak nor are you helpless. I wouldn't have ever fallen in love with you if you were either of those things." He pulled her carefully into his arms and kissed her forehead.

"It's not over yet, is it?" She sounded so worried and frightened that he didn't want to answer her. "Oh, why am I so terrified?" He could feel her heart racing, thundering in her chest.

"Hush, love... We should be getting you back now."

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><p><em>"Our little Dúlindir is love-sick, it seems<em>." _Elrohir had said quite brashly. Arradon had mumbled and muttered but said nothing. He hadn't said much since he had seen his father fall in the Fields. Somehow, and by _somehow_ he knew it to be Elladan, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, had been informed of his longing._

_"I would not keep you here if you did not wish to serve me any longer." he had said in his ever quiet manner. It was unnerving the way he spoke sometimes. _

_"I would not leave you, lord._" _he replied, steadfast. His lord's face gathered itself into a warm although slightly wan smile. _

_"But you would go to this woman for love?" He seemed wise and sympathetic beyond all things. Ever a lord out of the tales did this man appear to him. _

_"Aye, for love."_

_"Then go to her. You have seen enough war for your lifetime and a few others, I suspect. You fought with all the strength of our fallen brothers in the Fields. You were not one man that day but many and your wounds are grievous." There was a faint pause before Aragorn turned away and seemed to think for a long while. "Your service to be is done. Whatever oath you gave, I say you have seen it fulfilled. I give you my leave. Go to her."_

And like that Arradon was already nearly to Edoras. He could the golden halls of Meduseld on the horizon, shining like some worn beacon in the fading rays of daylight. He spurred the horse ever onward untill at least he reached the doors. It was quiet outside as though the dead were alone but inside it was a celebration of sorts. _They celebrate their King..._ The Eorlingas had a strange way of going about death, he realized. Mourned though the dead were, they were also celebrated and honored above all else.

"Arradon!" Before he knew what was happening, Leola threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I thought... When no word came... I thought the worst!"

"I came and you are safe. That is all that matters."

She gingerly touched the bandage over his eye. "You're hurt..."

"'Tis but a scratch!" he assured her. "_Only a scratch_." Truthfully it was more than that but it didn't pain him near as much now.

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><p>Boromir was sad to watch Asfaloth depart. He had been a good horse indeed but Elven-fair and not made for battles and war. He was made for freedom and frolicking and there would be none of that in Gondor for many years yet to come.<p>

"You seem troubled by it." Aelswyth said from her place beside him as her keen eyes searched the distant horizon for some sign of the swift, white stallion. He doubted she could still see him

"Aye, a bit. He was a good horse and he's a long way to go before he sees Rivendell again."

"Oh, I imagine he'll have a tale to tell when he's at journey's end." she murmured as she took his hand in hers. They were mostly healed now and it was an attestant to the Kings of Old and the Kings they all now seemed to be waiting for. He was outside of the city though and in a few more moments Boromir would be with him.

"We all will..." he said before taking his leave of her. He suspected that there was much work that lay a head of them and there was still one great battle left before them. _The brink, _he thought solemnly as he made his way out of the White City. _We are on the brink. Just a little off our path and we will fall and in falling, we will fail... _It sounded terribly desperate to him and the departure of Asfaloth did little to assuage it.

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><p><em>"Take mine . . . there's a few drops left." <em> said Samwise Gamgee quite duitifully as he handed Mister Frodo his skein of water. Frodo took it and swallowed a small sip before handing it back to Sam.

_"There'll be none left for the return journey_." whiasered Frodo despairinly.

_"I don't think there will be a return journey, Mr Frodo."_ said Samwise sadly as he and Frodo shared a long, knowing look. Sam offered Frodo his hand and pulled Frodo to his feet. There were many miles to go and promises to keep and burdens to bear.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Filler! Filler! Filler! But I wanted to get it up before work and yay, Asfaloth went home for real now. And I wanted to share a super nerdy, uber weird dream I had the other night. I was on my Night Elf hunter( hey, it's and Elf) and for some reason I was in the Trollshaws and the Witch King was having elvenses with the Lich King. They were drinking tea out of these little dainty cups...


	17. Chapter 17

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 17**

**Disclaimer: **

... ... ... ... ...

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><p>"stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down)" e e cummings<p>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Some male bonding time in this chapter and a (sort of) vague rip off from the extended scene between Aragorn and Boromir in Lothlórien although I had to make it work for this. I don't know why but I've given poor Boromir this weird fixation with reclaiming Osgiliath. Oh, and Naurwe, y u no update? /sadface

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><p><em>...The brink, he thought solemnly as he made his way out of the White City. We are on the brink. Just a little off our path and we will fall and in falling, we will fail...<em>

Two days later and his words still seemed to haunt him. Two days later and Asfaloth was still gone. He didn't think he'd miss that damn horse but he did. _Might be he knows something the rest of us don't... _Two days later and Osgiliath was glaring him right in the face. The small host was a day or so away yet but his greatest failure was still presently ahead of them. _I could have-_ he was thinking when Aragorn beckoned him ahead. He spurred the dark gray gelding to the front where Aragorn and his generals rode.

"I can see that you are troubled." the stern-faced Aragorn stated.

"No, only... only... Unsettled." he said before turning his gaze to the road that lay ahead.

"It is more than that, I think..." the other man said, his eyes grim and yet somehow knowing. He hated those familiar gray eyes. If he looked close enough, he would see Aelswyth somewhere in those depths and it was toward her that he turned his ire. If she hadn't sent that bloody old woman to him... And suddenly, the two of them were alone at the head of the host. He looked around, puzzled, and then nodded slowly.

"I do not think now that I could have truly retaken Osgiliath and yet..."

"And yet if she had only hesitated a little while longer perhaps you would have."

"Perhaps I would have or perhaps I would have died on enemy arrows or by enemy blades." He frowned though quite unnoticeably. "I have only just begun to realize what my dear wife did when she took my place at that Council."

"It is true that we would be on a much different road now." said Aragorn in his soft voice. "But I am grateful we are not on that road. I would rather have you fighting at my side that where ever it is you could be."

"Do you see it there?" Boromir questioned after quite some time. Ahead them lay a much nearer Osgiliath. Even the ruin it had fallen into had not damaged its former splendor. His eyes were close as if envisioning some distant past or vague hope for the future. "Can you not see how it could be? I-I would see its glory restored_, with banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?_" His head turned away slightly as though he heard these fine silver trumpets far off somewhere. "One day, my sons and daughters will run through those streets and there will be music and laughter once more. _One day, our paths will lead us there _and the people _will call: The Lords of Gondor have returned!_"

As they rode up to the Black Gate of Mordor, that eerie calmness had come over Boromir once more. Aragorn too seemed devoid of anything other than an astounding sense of purpose. Éomer seemed ill at ease and Legolas disturbed. Gandalf, composed and grim. The Wee Ones had their faces hidden from him. The Dwarf was more concerned with falling off the horse's ass than anything else. And behind them, the small host stood as still as statues, their faces as unreadable to him as stone.

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><p>"<em>Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth<em>!" bellowed Aragorn in a ringing, strong voice. _A King's voice_ he reminded himself. One day he would kneel before this man who so often spoke in a murmur. "_Let justice be done upon him!_" There was a long, fraught moment where only the faint breeze could be heard. Then the great gates creaked opened and a rider, mounted on a black horse, came out to meet them. The rider must have been a man once but no more did he resembled anything related to his former race. He was hideous and morphed.

"_My Master Sauron the Great bids thee welcome_." His voice was rough and low. His unusually large mouth with great yellow teeth twisted and distorted itself in what could have easily been mistaken for a reassuring and friendly smile. It was neither of those things; in fact, it was strangely disturbing and comical to watch. "_Is there any in this lot that would treat with me?_"

"_We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed. Tell your master this: The Armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return._" There was strength there in the old man- _Wizard_ he reminded himself like a foolish child _And Wizard's are not Men_- that he did not know was possible.

"_Old Graybeard..._" came the Mouth of Sauron's warped voice. "_I have a token I was bidden to show thee_." The Mouth pulled out a coat of _mithril_, each link shining like a star in the harsh and glaring light. It rustled like leaves on the wind as he held it out and with a faint snarl tossed it at Gandalf. The Wizard caught it and held it in his hands, inspecting it carefully.

"_Frodo_!" one of the Halflings sighed.

"_Silence._" Gandalf ordered as the horses began a nervous prance. Well, except for Shadowfax.

"_No!_" came the wee voice of the other Halfling.

"_Silence!_" said Gandalf with more power.

"_The Halfling was dear to thee, I see."_ Again, there was that twisted smile or at least, it looked like it was supposed to be a smile. Honestly, it was too difficult for him to tell. "_Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his Host. Who would have thought that one so small would endure so much pain?_ _And he did, Gandalf... He did._" And the Wizard seemed so old and worn down at those words. Boromir was scarce sure he could see tears in the old man's eyes. He looked to his wife's sword then to Aragorn who seemed to nod imperceptibly. He rode carefully up to the Mouth, his horse trembling beneath him.

"_And who is this?_ The Captian of the White Tower? What are you but _a lesser son of_ worthless sires?" He laughed but it seemed to be more of a rough bark than anything else. "There is your King with his _broken Elvish blade. _Would you kneel before him?"

Boromir did not answer. He drew his wife's sword and brought it down one-handed on the neck of the Mouth, cleaving the thing's head from his body with a grunt.

"I guess that concludes negotiations..." he heard the Dwarf mutter. He had always admired the infuriating Dwarven ability to completely understate everything.

"I do not believe it." said Aragorn fiercely after Boromir had resheathed his wife's sword. "I will not..."

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><p>The Gates gave another slow creak as they opened again and an army of orcs came marching out.<p>

"_Pull back! Pull back!_" Aragorn cried and they all galloped back to their now paltry looking forces. Boromir felt a shudder run through his body as the Eye of Sauron became trained on them. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He would not know fear this day. As the Orcs swarmed around them, some of the men began to waver but Aragorn galloped in front of them, his eyes blazing.

"_Hold your ground - hold your ground! Sons of Gondor - of Rohan . . . my brothers! _" His burning eyes fixed on everyone of the men before him and his fire seemed to ignite them. " _I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. The day may come when the courage of Men fails; when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship; but it is not this day - an hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the Age of Man comes crashing down - but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth - I bid you stand!_" Boromir thought of Aelswyth and their child still inside of her. _It is almost time now_, he told himself though if he meant birth or battle he did not know.

"_Men of the West!" _ came Aragorn in his mighty voice, in his King's voice, as he held Andúril aloft.

Boromir eyed the mass of Orcs that surrounded them and drew Narnimwen, poised for the order. _No songs have yet been sung of her glory..._ Soon, soon there would be a song for this sword.

"For Frodo..." he heard Aragorn murmur as he turned with his sword raised and charged forward. Suddenly a shout went up as the two Halflings screeched after him. Then, he charged forward with the rest of the men.

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><p><em>"Look, Mr. Frodo! We're almost there!"<em>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

No Aelswyth? U mad, bro? Lawl. Anyway, she'll be in the next chapter, maybe?


	18. Chapter 18, or Hope

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 18**

**Disclaimer: **

I think by now we all know the truth

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><p>"<em>Orcs! And so far from Auckland<em>!" Sir Ian McKellan(Gandalf) in one of the bloopers. Admittedly, the LotR has some of the best bloopers ever.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

So, Elijah Wood still has the creepiest, biggest, bluest eyes ever known to mankind... And I kind of want them... Like, to keep. Is that weird? Anyway, I'm working on some random poetry that might or might not have anything to do with Naurwe's The Wanderer or at least Dyantha... Actually, it might be directly related? or possibly Faelwen?

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><p><em>"Look, Mr. Frodo! We're almost there!"<em>

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><p>Aelswyth had retreated back to the White Tower of Ecthelion and from her window she could see the withering White Tree of Gondor. <em>But there is hope yet<em>, she said as her keen eyes saw a little bloom there upon one of the skeletal branches. _There is always hope..._ She had learned over the years that hope came in many forms. There was that desperate sort of hope she had clung to when her father had been slain in battle. There was that crazy type of hope she had had when Gandalf had sent her on his errant mission to Gondor and even still was that crazier type of hope she had on the journey there. There was hope in its purest and simplest form; when Boromir had come to her the eve before they left for Osgiliath, she had felt that pure, glowing hope that they were a possibility, that Osgiliath itself were a possibility. Anything was possible that night.

And now as Faramir and his White Lady of Rohan whispered their true affections and laughed, Aelswyth felt a different sort of hope. It _was _a simple hope, a crazy hope, an every sort of hope she was feeling. She let her hands drop to her abdomen and she smiled down at her child. _My son..._ She felt kick and would swear her kidney had just been sucker punched. _So strong and so close already... _She imagine holding him in her arms in much the same way she had imagine holding her other one.

She looked back out and saw that another blossom had appeared on the tree.

"Come through this, my husband..." she prayed silently though she did not doubt his ability in battle. She had seen enough times to know he knew what to do. "_Onen i Estel edain, ú-chebin estel anim..._ Protect him and fight for him but fight with him. You will need each other now more than ever..."

She could see Faramir and Èowyn walking a circuit around the courtyard below. The tree seemed to have one more blossom than before. _There is hope. There is always hope, little one of mine. Remember that._

_There is always hope and I can say that you were born in peaceful times when hope is not so completely relied on to pass the days. When hope is a name. When hope is not needed because we have nothing to fear. I can say "_There are my sons! That is my daughter! Watch how they play at war!_" But you will never have to fight in a war and, all things willing, there will be no songs sung of you, little fighter..._

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><p>"The Eagles!" he heard some shout in a terribly shrill voice. "The Eagles are coming!" Mercy, they were saved then. Never before had he been so hopeless as when the battle began. When his men around began to fall like leaves from the trees when winter had given sign that it was coming. Now, it seemed spring was coming once again. With an almost grateful sigh, he thrust at an Orc and it fell dead before his feet. He looked Aragorn as if awaiting some monumental order but none came. Instead, a cave troll came rampaging at both of them.<p>

"Oh, hells..." he growled as raised his shield to block the beast. It splintered and then fragmented, raining splinters everywhere. He ground his teeth but raised up his wife's sword down and lunged forward, stabbing at the creature. Troll skin was thick though and he wasn't sure he went deep enough. The troll shoved him away as though he were a useless rag doll and he felt the air go out of him as he crashed into the ground. He tried to sit up but he felt his world growing dark and red around him. It was all he could to fend off the orcs that teemed about him now.

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><p>"<em>Destroy it - go on! Throw it in the fire<em>" yelled Samwise Gamgee, his eyes frantic.

A strange expression had come over Frodo Baggins's face. "_What are you waiting for? Just let go!"_

"_The Ring is mine_." said Frodo Baggins in a vicious, little voice as the Ring began to hum and murmur. He slipped the ring on his finger and vanished from Sam's sight.

"_No_!" cried Samwise, looking every which way for Frodo with those frantic eyes.

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><p>"Aelswyth..." he murmured as the sky above him filled his vision. There the Ringwraiths ad Eagles conducted a complex and wildly beautiful battle but who was winning he could not say. Both sides seemed thoroughly decimated.<p>

_"Oh, dark Wanderer! __The things you know!_

_Oh, dark Wanderer! Where will you go?_

_To your people laying broken and scattered?_

_To your home in the north laying cold, fallen, and shattered!_

_Oh, dark Wanderer! Can you fight your yearning?_

_Oh, dark Wanderer! Look at the Sea returning!_" _Suddenly Aelswyth's voice came to him from somewhere in the battle for Osgiliath. He could hear her laughing violently and saw her as a whirling blur and a flash of sword and shield. Her hair fell down around her shoulders in a matted, bloodied mess. She looked like some heathen goddess or Shieldmaiden of the old tales..._

He was being pulled to his feet by someone. He looked around, half-bewildered and then relief flooded him. Aragorn... and no worse for wear and the battle seemed to have been abandoned by the fleeing enemy. Ash and smoke were raining down on them as they turned their attention to the erupting Mount Doom.

_They can't have possibly survived. They're made of tough stuff, those Halflings but not that tough..._

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><p>"<em>I am glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee... At the end of all things<em>" Frodo was saying calmly as he wrapped an arm around his dearest friend.

It seemed to happening as though out a dream. Three great Eagles were flapping toward them so slowly. So slowly... He was sure he passed out...

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Woefully short but I wanna make it to 20 chapters without the appendixes. :P Hopefully the next chapters will be longer!


	19. Chapter 19

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**Chapter 19**

**In Which Goodbyes Are Said**

**Disclaimer:**

Boromir might or might not have jacked some words from Faramir in this chapter. All in brotherly love, I say.

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><p><strong>"To die and part is a less evil; but to part and live, there, there is the torment." George Lansdowne<strong>

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

So these are getting randomly titled now? Again, with Boromir's weird Osgiliath fixation. _Oy! _

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><p><em>"I am glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee... At the end of all things" Frodo was saying calmly as he wrapped an arm around his dearest friend. <em>

_It seemed to happening as though out a dream. Three great Eagles were flapping toward them so slowly. So slowly... He was sure he passed out..._

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><p>Each day that passed seemed colder and harsher than the one before and her heart ached for some word, some news of what had happened. Yet none came and the whole of Minas Tirith was left to wait.<p>

But the day was warm and mild once more when the host returned. Aelswyth could just barely see them, no more than a speck moving slowly on the horizon but she bid one of the men to ride out to meet them anyway. Vaguely, she longed for Leola who would have run faster than that horse could carry any man and even briefer still she thought of proud Rowenna but pushed thoughts of both of them aside. _There will be time later..._

She could not clearly see what was happening but she knew it was something great indeed for in one voice she heard the people cheer _yea_. Then she smiled. For once, things seemed to be going according to plan or if not to plan, then at least nothing had gone wrong yet.

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><p>In one voice, he heard the people cheer <em>yea<em>. He honestly had not expected them to do otherwise.

"Then, _Men of Gondor,_" Boromir began, his voice rising above the din of the gathered crowd. "It said by our lore masters that it was the custom of old that Kings would receive the crown of their father ere they died... Or, if not, then he should go to his tomb and retrieve it there from the bones of his father. Things must be done otherwise now and using the authority of the Steward, my brother brought here the crown of Eärnur the last King whose days have long since passed."

He opened the casket and held up the ancient crown. Sunlight glittered on it and bounced around them like fireflies of white light.

Aragorn took the crown from him and held it high above his own head.

"_Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" _spoke Aragorn in the High Language of the Elves and to Boromir's own amazement he gave the crown back to him.

"Let the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me and _Mithrandir_ place it upon my head." And so the crown passed into the hands of Frodo Baggins and then to Gandalf who placed the crown upon the head of a kneeling Aragorn. When the King rose to his feet, all beheld him in silence. It seemed they were all seeming him now for the first time and for whom he truly was. He seemed as tall as the sea-Kings of old had been and wise without the weight of the years. There was healing in his hands and a strength to his eyes.

"_Behold the King!"_ he and Faramir cried together, both finding their voices at the same time.

And then the King Elessar, first of his name, first of his House _Telcontar_, strode into the City and through the flower-laden streets. All the people were rejoicing. All the people were singing and from the White Tower the banner of the Tree and Stars was flying.

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><p>She seemed to be waiting for them in the Court of the Fountain. Her black hair billowed around her and her face looked inexplicably grim despite the fact that she was smiling softly. Behind her stood the once withering White Tree that was blooming once more. She looked upon all of them as a mother would when her children returned from some great adventure around the forest. Her expression was one of extreme patience though she seemed a little burdened. She placed formed a fist with her hand and bowed slightly to Aragorn who motioned it away.<p>

"We have come through the flames of this War together, _gwathel vell(_sworn sister). We set out together from Imladris and journeyed through the dark mines of Moria. We fought together at Amon Hen where surely we should have all perished and you advised the Lady Èowyn most astutely in Rohan... You will bow to no one." And he embraced her as though they were siblings long separated by time and by battles uncounted. _He is more my brother than any brother I might have had and more my King than any that will come after._

"And my husband? Where is he?" But she did not have to look much farther. He was standing off to the side, looking a bit forlorn. "You're hurt..." she said, touching at his arm, bandaged and in a sling.

"A scratch" he joked poorly. She threw her arms around him and held him closely.

"Don't ever leave me again. I don't know that I can bear it." she said in his ear, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"I am with you always." he replied, kissing her breifly on her forehead.

"And the Wee Ones are here!" She immediately dropped down and pulled the four of them into her arms as best she could. "Sam, oh, sweet Sam! Look at you! You need to eat, you do! Merry, Pippin! Promise you'll write me from the Shire?"

"Yes, Mam!" said Pippin, grinning.

"You should visit us sometime, Mam." said Merry.

"I should like that very much, Merry." Her gaze lingered on Frodo a moment longer. She kissed the hop of his head. "Can you ever forgive me for being so foolish as to think any good would come of that Thing." Even now she dared not speak it aloud for fear of the Ring itself.

Frodo Baggins smiled but it was a sad, pitiful thing indeed and it did not reach his wide, blue eyes. The eyes were the windows into the soul and this was a shattered soul, truth be told and Aelswyth did not need to be told.

"Well" she said, looking at those gathered around her with her keen gaze. "We're all back."

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><p>"What would you ask of me, friends?" said Aragorn after the celebrations were done and over with and the City had fallen asleep. Aelswyth looked to Boromir and then back to her King.<p>

"I would ask for nothing." she said, a content smile playing at her features as she rested her head against Boromir's uninjured shoulder.

"And you? Would you also ask for nothing?" There was a curious light in his eyes. He already knew the answer, it seemed.

"You know what I desire." answered Boromir as he fought the sudden urge to smirk.

"I do. You shall have Osgiliath and all else you desire. You and heirs will retain the Stewardship for as long as my line will last." Again he turned those keen gray eyes of his to Aelswyth. "Are you sure, _gwathel vell_, that there is nothing I can-"

"Peace, Aragorn. I need nothing from you, save perhaps your friendship in the years to come." And she smiled and was content. Then her mind turned immediately to the work at hand. "Now, husband, you know we must commission the Dwarves in rebuilding Osgiliath. I won't have any of that _typical Elf-work_. It is too light and airy for a city such as ours will be."

"And she said she didn't want anything.," laughed Boromir. She shot him a fiery glance but he failed to quail under her scrutiny. "Of course, darling. I will see to all your plans myself!"

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><p>It was Èowyn that Aelswyth sought out next. The White Lady of Rohan would not be gone long though, she suspected.<p>

"I go long enough to see Théoden-King buried and then I will return."

"I thought as much." Aelswyth said, taking her friend by the arm and walking with her a little while through the crowded streets.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do not play coy with me! Alas, it seems the Sheildmaiden of Rohan has fallen for the Prince of Ithilien! They'll be a song to come out of it, you mark my words."

"I'll mark your words, alright. I'll mark them with my sword and we'll see how you like it!"

"Oh, have mercy on me!" Aelswyth dramatically dropped to her knees and tugged at the hem of Èowyn's dress.

"Being the Lady that I am, I will grant you mercy but you must promise me something in return?" Aelswyth nodded, her face stern as usual. "You must visit us often and bring your children."

"Why ever would I not? Now, I must ask something of you, I'm afraid... Leola... See that she is well for me. I feel just dreadful for dragging that poor thing into this whole bloody affair."

"She is tougher than you'd think but aye, I'll see it done."

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><p>Finally, Aelswyth found Legolas and Gimli together in the Court of the Fountain. They seemed to be a deep discussion of some sort though it also bordered on argument.<p>

"Plotting your plans of action, gentlemen?" she asked them as she sat down at Legolas's side.

"It is nothing that cannot wait." said Legolas lightly as he batted the maps in Gimli's hands away.

"I have a request, Master Gimli, of your kinfolk. We will need help rebuilding Osgiliath and I know of no finer craftsman than Durin's Folk."

"The Elves would be most honored, Lady of the North, to build you such a fine city that this world will never know another like it!"

"Ha-ha! Typical Elf-work I'd get too! All light and airy. I do not doubt your kin but we need strength there so that it will never fall again." She touched his Elven-fair face and in that moment he knew why she was so determined to see her own plans through. And in truth Osgiliath never would fell again. "No, no, it is in the hands of Gimli and Durin's folk I entrust this to. So, what say you, Master Dwarf?"

"Aye. I will see it done." said the Dwarf thoughtfully after some time.

"Then I thank you and leave you two to your maps! _Namárië_, Legolas Greenleaf! And farewell, Gimli son of Glóin. May your ways be green and golden."

When night at last fell upon Minas Tirith and Aelswyth was allowed a little rest, she found she was unable to. Instead, she watched the stars from the Court of the Fountain. With her face upturned and glowing in the night-light, he was again struck by her appearance. It was particularly fair but it was a strong and stern, Kind and soft, when she needed it to be.

"_Oh, dark Wanderer! Can you smell it in the air?_

_Oh, dark Wanderer! Can you feel it the depths of the water?_

_Oh, dark Wanderer! Do you feel it in the earth_

_As you place your feet upon the mountain_

_And the wind sifts through your hair_

_And the rain begins to fall?_"

Her voice sad and melancholy as she sang but she seemed to be smiling.

"Why is it I always find you here?" he asked as he came up behind her and wrapped his arm around her.

"It is as good a spot as any." she answered truthfully as his hand fell to her swollen belly. "Any day now." she promised him. "Any day now."

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Next up a ridiculously long EPILOGUE in which this story concludes itself!


	20. A Tediously Brief Author or Lol Jk

**Daughter of the Dunedain**

**A Quick Author's Note**

**-insert evil laughter here-**

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><p><strong>Taken from <strong>_The Lord of the Rings_

_Bilbo: "Have you thought of an ending? "_

_Frodo: "Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant."_

_Bilbo: "Oh, that won't do! Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: and they all settled down and lived together happily ever after?" _

_Frodo: "It will do well, if it ever came to that."_

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><p>So, about this epilogue... I think it might be longer than I intended and as such it's going to be posted in multiple-chapter format. It'll kind of be like three mini stories in one bigger one. I really couldn't help myself though so yeah! ^_^ Anyway, the way it's planned out in my head it'll go up in three parts and there'll be a fourth to follow.<p>

1. Part the First: A Visit to the Shire.

2. Part the Second: Rebuilding Osgiliath.

3. Part the Third: Even Dragons Have Their Ending.

4. And of course, there will be certain Appendices that I'll have to include. I can't be blamed for that either. I've always commended Professor Tolkien on doing a very thorough job with his works.

I just thought I should let y'all, my Lovely Readers, know exactly what was going on in my mind if it seemed to be taking some added time to get the ending up. I am planning and being overly particular about everything at this point.

And now to answer some of **Umm**'s questions as **Umm **doesn't have an account and I can't mail my responses ;) Yes, the council was in Rohan. I'm sorry about that; I should've made it clearer. I think I might've already answered your question about Faelwen. In part I blame you for the length of my epilogue. You brought up some lovely points that I hadn't considered including.

Thanks to **Naurwe **for her constant feedback and help! I don't think I would've gotten much farther than the first chapter without it! XD

**XOXO**

**Waxing Slain**

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><p><strong>P.S. <strong>

**Lol... I hope I didn't trick y'all into thinking I had the next chapter up already! **


	21. Epilogue Part the First

**SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for Leola's story are included sort of :P So don't read this yet if you don't wanna know anything!**

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><p><em>~The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.~ <em>

Lao Tzu

**Epilogue **

**Part the First:**

**A Visit to the Shire**

**and In Which Great Gifts Are Given**

It seemed to many that much time had passed since the last days of the War of the Ring. In truth, it had been only ten years- a brief time for Durin's Folk and a blink of the eye to the Elves though their time and their magic was fading. Ten years was however long enough for Man. Ten years had seen the once shattered Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor reunited, the Line of the King restored and, like the Line of the Steward, flourishing. Ten years of love and joy. Ten years of births and deaths. Ten years of rebuilding. Ten years of farewells. She missed Frodo and Bilbo something terrible on green and golden days such as the one she was experiencing now. Bilbo would be composing some song and Frodo would be lounging peacefully. _But they were not at peace_. Ten years of departures from the Elven-kind. Of all the things to pass out into the West, this was perhaps the saddest of them all. The world seemed a little darker, a little less magical, and it did not go out of Aelswyth's notice that tempers were wearing thin around Minas Tirith. That, she assumed, was to be expected. Matters of State were tedious and boring however necessary as Èowyn was wont to remind them all when they visited. Admittedly though their visits were becoming rarer and rarer. Governing the Ithilien kept husband, wife, and children all busy.

And in Osgiliath, still under much construction though prospering and populating itself well enough, Aelswyth felt the weight of her own burden. It was her own doing, of course. She'd at least admit that much to herself though never to Boromir. She knew that he would not gloat but there would be some little smirk that would creep onto his face and she would have to fight the urge to slap it off. Then again it had been going a fortnight since she had seen him last and she probably wouldn't be as inclined to harm him. Just now though, Mírien came bounding up to her on unsteady legs. She had the Dúnedain look to her: dark hair and keen, gray eyes. Her face however had no grimness to it though there was a certain pretty strength to her nose.

"_Atheg_(Daddy)?" she asked as she crawled into her mother's lap, her gray eyes bright like stars.

"He'll be home soon, little one." If that was true, she did not know and Boromir had sent no word from Minas Tirith yet. From their spot they could see the boys as they played at ward like boys so often do. They could see all of Osgiliath from their little perch. Durin's folk worked happily on the northern section of the city, the sound of hammers clanging brilliantly. From their spot they saw a swift, sure-footed stallion galloping over the bridge. The rider was golden-blonde and at first she thought of Legolas but there was no Dwarf riding with him and the hair was like spun-gold, not that white-blonde of her sweet friend. So she had to wait untill the rider and horse came up to them.

"_Glorfindel!_" Aelswyth said and got up to hug her old friend, taking her daughter with her. "_A star shines at the hour of our meeting! _What ever are you doing here? I thought you had departed already_._" The truth was that she had neard nothing of him since she was last in Rivendell and that had been... nine years ago now? Perhaps it was less.

"My time here has not yet come to an end. There is still much to rebuild and wounds to heal and the Blue Wizards have yet to arrive from the Far East." His face was flawless still though strained and there was abject worry in his voice. There was a tension in him that she had not known before the War.

"But you have come on some important business. Your eyes speak to me even when you do not." Her sons had quit playing at their War Games and timidly came up to the boy-ish looking elf, their eyes wide and full of wonder. They had heard their Mother's tale of the great and wise Glorfindel. He was practically a legend to them.

"Your husband asked that I pass through this way and give you his message." he said quietly as he smiled down at her boys and ruffled Mírien's dark hair.

"My friend, where is it you intend to go?" Aelswyth asked after a quiet moment, her mind circling and circling and failing to reach any sort of conclusion.

"That is not important; your husband's message is." He passed her a small note and it didn't take her long to read. "_Come to Minas Tirith. I have a surprise..." _It read quite shortly.

"That's it?" she asked the Elf carefully

Glorfindel smiled one of those smiles, wise and knowing albeit a little puck-ish.

"Well?" she prompted. "What is it?"

"That would ruin it for you." he said, looking ever boy-ish though something in him seemed wasted.

"Oh, my friend, do not linger here too long!"

He said nothing in reply. Instead he gave a low whistle and Asfaloth game prancing up. Mírien reached out her little hand and touched the felt-soft nose. Asfaloth huffed, blowing air out of his nose, and she squealed in an odd mix of excitement and fear.

"What is this?" Aelswyth asked him as he held the reins out to her.

"I believe it is something called a gift." he replied, still holding the reins out to her. "You'll find no better horse than him and I would not take him with to he West. Not if I knew the home he had here would be better. I put him in your husband's care now and into your son's when the time comes. And his son if it comes to that." She wondered if it would but did not speak it aloud.

"That will make him very happy." she said as she took the reins from him. _Happy _was probably an understatement. _Happy _didn't quite have the proper ring to it. _Overjoyed_. _Ecstatic_. Those were closer than _happy_. "Where are you going?"

"Farther into the East. Do not fear for me, Aelswyth; I wait now only for their word."

"And if their word does not come? If they... linger?" They shared sad smiles. As Glorfindel departed, she turned now to her children knowing she would not see the golden-haired, boy-ish Elf again.

"Come, darlings. Let's go see Father now."

Asfaloth whickered happily and Mírien let out another excited squeal though if it was for the horse or her father Aelswyth did not know.

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><p>When the day was said and done, the trip to Minas Tirith had turned into a sort of adventure for the boys and Mírien was fascinated by every blade of grass, every whispering wind. And the boys... Oh, she was eating her words now! <em>What ever was I thinking? Wanting two of them? Ha! Half of one is enough! <em>

"Mírien!" she called as the little girl ran headlong off of the path after a dragonfly. Her dark, curling head of hair popped back up, tangled now with leaves and twigs. She looked Elven and up to something. "Oh, my little jewel, you couldn't wait a few more moments could you?" Aelswyth proceeded to pick the debris from her daughter's hair as the boys ran on ahead of them. It mattered not; Minas Tirith was close enough that nothing would happen. She never used to think that though. She was from a different time than these boys of hers. They played at war but the knew nothing of war save what they heard in stories. But she knew war and she remembered it well, better than most.

"Baradion! Don't get your brother into trouble!" she called as she threw a few green leaves aside. She turned her keen gaze back to Mírien and frowned slightly. "Well, that's as good as you'll get. You look a mess though, little jewel. What will Eldarion say, I wonder?" Not that the boy talked too terribly much though. He was like Aragorn in that respect. Well, that and every other one as well. He did seem to get his mother good sense though. _He'll be a wise king one day _she told herself _and a great man. _She heard a short cry from up ahead and pressed forward. Baradion and Amathion were both soaked and covered in mud. Aelswyth could not help but laugh when they started pointing fingers at each other.

"Enough! Enough!" she told them. She didn't even bother asking them how they managed to do it or who was really to blame. "We're almost there anyway. You two can tell your father all about it." They fell silent quick enough; Mother was, as far as they knew, gentle and sweet with her smiling face and soft eyes. Father was... not. He was the grim, stern one with his grizzled beard and frowning mouth. Father was a force to be reckoned with. Mother was... not. How little her children knew! And in a moment of frozen time, their sticks became mighty arching swords and their cries of joy became bloody and bold. _I remember, _she told them as she looked ever ahead, _I remember._

* * *

><p>"Your sons are quite the trouble-makers." she informed Boromir as though he did not already know that. He looked to her with a light in his eyes that she had not seen since Mírien had been born.<p>

"I know _that_. Tell me something I don't know." he said as was his fashion now. There long weeks apart kept them wholly out of the loop, as the phrase goes, with one another. Messengers there were in abundance but a note here and there was not the same as an actual conversation.

"Well, our little jewel down there got into some trouble of her own."

"No. Not her! She is supposed to be the good one."

"All our children are good... Most of the time. Now, tell me why you've brought us all out here-"

"-I know Osgiliath is keeping you busy, my love, just as we are all kept occupied here but I have a surprise." He seemed like a little child. _Up to something... _She did not tell him that she too had a surprise. One he would probably get more enjoyment out of. "Can't you guess?"

"No and the suspense is killing me. Tell me!" She prompted him with a brief kiss but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. In the Court of the Fountain below, they could hear Mírien squeak and there was a short burst of laughter from Eldarion.

"We are going to the Shire." he announced with much gravitas.

"We are?"

"Are you not pleased?" Worry creased his brow as he eyed her curiously.

"Yes, of course! I have not seen the Wee Ones since they left years ago!"

"But?"

"Well, I think you'll enjoy my surprise much more." She took him by the hand and lead him to the window. Below Asfaloth was patiently putting up with Aragorn's girls as they pulled and tugged on his silken, snowy mane. Eldarion watched on and Mírien sat appealingly at his side. Boromir let out a little joyful laugh and Asfaloth turned his head suddenly up. His dark eyes held the same sort of worried light that had touched Glorfindel's.

"How-? Why-?" he stammered.

"I believe it is called a gift. Glorfindel knew you were fond of Asfaloth. As to why, well, I am not too sure and I don't suspect you care."

His face creased into a smile as he watched the sight below them.

"So, when do we leave?" she asked him as he pulled her closer if such a thing were possible.

"As soon as the King returns from the Ithilien."

"And who will govern-?"

"Shhhh, my love. You are worrying again."

Below, they heard one of Aragorn's girls giggle and Asfaloth whickered again. He was nothing if not patient.

The City passed into Arradon's very capable care now. After the War, and after his wounds had healed and he had been married, he returned to his King's side. He was, like his father had been, dutiful to a fault. She knew she would not have to worry about Osgiliath; Glóin, son of Gróin, was old even by Dwarf standards but she could trust him with her city long enough and his years made his wise though sometimes forgetful.

So the band of travelers set out with a few more than what Aelswyth had imagined. The last time she had gone on such an adventure... She shook her head and would not think on it. She would not mar such a fine day with thoughts of War.

Instead she watched all the children as they played at their games and occasionally the men as they spoke of old times and smoke their pipes. She sighed, content at long last.

* * *

><p>The Shire all together seemed to come up out of nowhere. Or everywhere really. It was nothing but fertile farmland and green pastures and warm days and ancient oaks. <em>This <em>Aelswyth thought _is peace. _True the only sound to be heard aside from the laughter of children was the slow hum of a lazy river. Somewhere a bird dared to chirp and a dragonfly thrummed along with them. Boromir looked at ease on Asfaloth who seemed to bear his years far better than his rider. His hair was growing gray although slowly and he didn't quite have that kick in his steps. _Oh, my sweet husband, you're getting older_. One day she hoped he would realize it was a young man's work he we doing but she thought not. The Guard was his to command untill he died or untill he could no longer hold his sword.

"Peregrin Took!" she called from nowhere though now she did recognize the dapper looking Hobbit that walked along the Road. With him was a sweet looking lass and a wee little babe in her arms. "It has been too long!" At least since his marriage to Diamond of Long Cleave and Aelswyth must've looked something like a bear then. She dismounted as though she were years younger and embraced Pippin as though he were son.

"I didn't think you'd be here so soon and I didn't think you would bring, well, everybody!" he said as he looked at everyone in turn, a happy look of surprise crossing onto his face.

"We're all here now!" came Boromir's gravelly voice. Pippin smiled warmly and looked around again. Well, almost anyway. Aelswyth had noted that Faramir had not been able to leave the Ithilien.

"I don't think we've enough room for all of you!" He smiled, looking impish with his golden curls and twinkling dark eyes. "C'mon then! Supper'll be done soon!"

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><p>Mírien chased the lightening bugs with her hair twisting behind her and while Eldarion chased after her. Aelswyth leaned back against a tree and closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds around her. Arwen sat with her girls, braiding flowers into their dark hair, their eyes all shining like the stars. Pippin had brought Merry out of whatever little hobbit-hole he had been hiding in and just now they were both smoking their pipes. Baradion and Amathion were tussling in the grass. Aragorn and Boromir were both quiet as they looked on.<p>

"You are thinking." Aragorn said softly so the others would not hear him. Boromir turned his head only slightly; the man had not aged a day, it seemed.

"Thinking? Not I!" They shared a chuckled before Mírien came stumbling up to them. She opened her little hand and a lightening bug flew out of her grasp. It lingered there just out of her reach before taking off into the night. She turned, saw Eldarion coming for her and ran again, her hair mingling with the night and her laughter ringing like the soft sound of bells. "I am old, aren't I?" he asked after a long time.

"We are all old now." Aragorn answered casually. "We cannot escape age nor death. Instead of brooding perhaps, old friend, you should simply enjoy this evening. It is a fine evening, is it not? An evening like this should be spent surrounded by our families and friends." Though Faramir and his extension of the family was missing, it was, in all fact, the perfect evening and he had no complaints. He strode across the lawn to where Aelswyth stood leaning and took her into his arms. He captured her lips with a slow, ardent kiss.

"What was that for?" she asked breathless as she blushed.

"I love you; what else could it be for?"

And so the night ended as quietly as it had begun. Mírien and Arwen's girls were sprawled together on the lawn while Baradion and Amathion clung to their war games even as they slept. Eldarion was nestled close to Arwen and even the adults knew the night was at it's end. They slept and when they dreamed it was nothing if not peaceful.

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

So long! And there a few more parts to go plus I'm working on a family tree and it's kind of kickin' my butt_! Ai_! Sometimes I wonder!

_Baradion_- Sindarin. "Son of the Tower".

_Amathion_-Also Sindarin. "Son of the Sheild."

_Mírien-_ "Daughter of Jewels".

I hope you have your many girly squeals, Naurwe. Decidedly that's what this chapter was for :D

Leola's chapter is next!


	22. Epilogue Part the Second

**SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for Leola's story are included :P So don't read this yet if you don't wanna know anything!**

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><p>~<em>Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air/ T'was in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair/But Gollum, and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her, her, her...yeah_.~

Led Zepplin. _Ramble On._

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><p><strong>Epilogue <strong>

**Part the Second**

**The Rebuilding of Osgiliath**

Glóin, son of Gróin, father to Gimli, was traversing some small portion of the Blue Mountains when a summons from the lost, or thought to be so, city of Osgiliath reached him. Truthfully, he had been expecting something of the sort. His son was already aiding in the fortifying of Minas Tirith and there were a great many other beard-tuggers

_Glóin, son of Gróin, father to Gimli_, it began in dainty enough handwritting for him to suspect it was a woman. _You likely do not know me or remember me but I was present at the Council of Elrond in Imladris. I was in part among those who accompanied poor Frodo Baggins into Mordor. Well, the War is over now and the time for Rebuilding as come at last. Your son has told me much of your skill as a smith and as a great builder. I would be most honored if you came to Osgiliath and helped my husband with the task of rebuilding. I trust no one else, Master Dwarf! Come at once or send word to me._" It was signed with a flourishing "_Aelswyth of the North, a daughter of the Dúnedain._"

He read it through twice more before he came to decision. He would go of course because he felt he still had one great adventure left in him. If nothing else, that city would outlive him, his son, Aelswyth and all her children's children's children's...and so on. Some would call him foolish and old and daft but he still had his wits about him. So he traveled through out the Blue Mountains(which by the way cannot be properly expressed in _Khuzdûl _as it is much too long but it flows something like _The Great Blue Mountains Upon Which Much Snow Falls and the Ice Shines Just So in the Morning Sun and..._Well, you get the pictures. Flowery bunch, those Dwarves, and such talkers!) and gathered a few good, stout beard-tuggers who didn't think he was too old or too foolish or too daft. They were few in numbers but most of them were young and some of those few had strong sons to bring with them. In the end, it was rag tag band of thirty-three dwarves that lumbered into Osgiliath. Vaguely he longed for the old days long ago when he had gone off with Thorin and Bilbo and all the others.

"_Glóin, son of Gróin, are you well?_" asked one of his compatriots from somewhere near him.

"_I... am well_." he replied hesitantly, his voice strangely like gravel. "_Come on, lads! We're there now! Can't you see it?_" But none of them could see what he saw. They saw half-drowned ruins; he saw glorious walls glittering like diamonds in the morning sunlight. They saw still smoldering dilapidation; he saw what could be, what would be. He saw soaring towers that rivaled the Tower of Ecthelion in Minas Tirith. He saw domes and spires; they saw desperation and deep shade. He saw possibility; they saw the past.

He could see a tall, dark-haired woman standing before the derelict city gates. She looked like she was waiting for someone then her eyes lighted on them and her face broke into a friendly smile.

"Hail, Glóin, son of Gróin! Welcome to the Ruins of Osgiliath!" She spoke with a husky, soft voice as she looked at each of them in turn. There was surprise flashing in her keen eyes but she held her peace and allowed him a moment to speak. Clearly she had not been expecting so many to come. He had not expected so many to join him but ah, well, life never ceased to amaze him most days.

"They will not long be ruins, Lady of the North. My companions and I will see this job done!"

"You are great builders and I put my faith in you but perhaps we could discuss a few plans-"

He held up his hand for silence, a warm laugh spilling from underneath his heavy, white beard. "Nay, my Lady! Leave the business of building to the Dwarves! That's what we say, isn't it, lads!" There was a rowdy cheer from behind him and then they set to work immediately. For ten more years, hammers could be heard clanging in every section of the city. One day though the Lady of Osgiliath came to him, her face stern though strangely beautiful as it always was.

"For only a little while I will have to leave my city, Glóin, son of Gróin, and untill I return I will leave it in your very capable hands."

He tugged his beard as Durin's Folk were wont to do in certain situation. She couldn't tell but she thought she saw him smiling underneath his great, white beard. He bid her a safe, fast journey and wished she would have waited only a little longer. In her absence though, the City was completed. He banged the final hammer, raised the final wall and he had some hand in all the other finals that were. Now it came down to waiting for Aelswyth of the North to return.

When she did return, and her children and husband with her, she was nearly moved to tears. Everything she had been working for in the last ten years had finally come to fruition; her husband's greatest dream had been actualized, realized. She could touch it and feel it and she did. Her long fingers danced across the marble of the streets and played at the columns.

'Why do you weep?" Boromir asked her softly so their children could not hear him. He turned to her and brushed a tear away with his thumb. She held his hand there to her face and kissed his palm.

"I am happy." she said suddenly and then began to laugh. "And foolish to cry!" she added quickly and held her husband to her. _Here it is_ she thought, looking out into the once ruined city. _Here it is and here we are! _She watched as Boromir lifted Mírien onto his shoulders and the little girl giggled happily, finally standing above her brothers. There was his real jewel and the jewel of Gondor! There was all his joy and light and beauty! Baradion grinned wickedly and gave Amathion a little playful, shove.

"Catch me if you can!" the older of the two called before hurtling off into the twisting streets, his hair a blur of red as he ran. Amathion was hot on his heels in a moment.

Aelswyth sighed once more and turned her keen gaze to the East and peered into the dark sky over the shattered Mordor. There was nothing left there and what lay beyond it in the Far East she could not say. _Glorfindel _she told herself, suddenly looking daunted. _And the Blue Wizards. Bloody wizards_ she thought with snort of contempt. She heard Mírien squeal and the little girl ran off in the same direction as her brothers, desiring to follow them as she so often did. Aelswyth lurched forward, going to grab to girl, but Boromir grabbed her instead and pulled her back.

"We have nothing to fear any longer, Aelswyth, and yet you act as though War is waiting on the horizon. You should know that there is nothing there; Mordor stands empty and whatever Orcs are left are being hunted down by Arradon and his men. They have no place left to run. That time is over for us, love."

"I... I was raised to take my father's place should he fall in battle and I did. It seems like so long ago now. I was taught how wield a sword, an axe, a mace, a shield... I was taught how to fight, how to defend myself and my people. She... will never have to raise a sword or nock an arrow. If I worry too much, I cannot help myself."

"Then I will help you." he said finally as Aelswyth continued to watch expectantly for her children. "We could teach her, as impractical as it might be. The boys will_ have to_ learn but she can be taught." He sighed deeply, his years pressing heavily upon him suddenly. This is what he got for running around with Ranger-folk, he supposed. "They will come back."

"Of course they will." But she didn't sound as sure as she has wanted to. "They had better."

"They wouldn't dare test you!" he said with laugh as they fell back into the grass.

"_Ai!_ It is not me they fear! Nay, it is you they would not cross."

"Then they do not know their mother, it seems."

"At this point, I don't think they would believe us."

He knew that was very well true. They likely never would know but he would have liked to tell them one day. If it ever came up, he would like to tell them a great deal that they likely did not know about their mother.

"They will have to one day. I know a great many _Eorlingas _who proudly tell me of how my pregnant wife was at the Battle of Helm's Deep. Not to mention your _Dúnedain _kin and Glorfindel-"

"Will not return. At least, not through this road. He said that much at least. He wishes to spare us the sadness and pain of another departure, I think. I will miss him and the Twins as well even though they were the most bothersome pair of brothers ever to come into being!" She sighed again only a sadness tinged her voice when she spoke again. "Is it everything you had thought it would?"

"Is what-?"

"This? Everything, I mean." She gestured around them, literally meaning _everything_. His face creased into a smile as he held her closer to him and kissed her lightly.

"Everything and more, darling." he said softly before sitting up. "Here come the children now. I did tell you, didn't I?"

"Oh, hush!" she chastised gently as she took his hand. She could not hide her smile much longer as Mírien stumbled into her lap. Amathion looked thoroughly winded but victorious as Baradion came up behind him.

"I let you win." muttered the oldest of her sons darkly. Amathion replied with a cheeky grin but held his peace. He knew not to meddle with his broter once beaten. He was victorious if only for today.

In those early days of the Fourth Age, Osgiliath stood proud and fair as it had ever been. There was music and joy once more and laughter seemed to spill from household. Though it was the jewel of Gondor, Osgiliath never again surpassed Minas Tirith. It was also in those days that children of Boromir, Steward of Gondor, and Aelswyth of the _Dúnedain _passed their childhood in blissful happiness.

Baradion, as the eldest and wisest of his siblings, was groomed to take the place of his father. He was of a height with King Elessar Telcontar by the time he reached manhood though he lacked the rest of the _Dúnedain _look. His hair was red as a flame and his eyes were dark and sharp. It was in Minas Tirith that he met and wed Lhinneth, a daughter of Leola, the Doe, and Arradon, of the _Dúnedain_. It was said of him that he had the gift of Foresight and so became a valuable asset to Eldarion when his time to rule came. He would be called Baradion the Far-sighted, the _Palantír, _in later years when he put his armor away in place of dusty, mottled robes.

Amathion, who would become known as _Tadion(_the Second-Son) by his Ranger kin, was reckless and stubborn to the point of stupidity. He was grim and quiet. He did not know it but he was much like his mother in that respect. In his forty-seventh year, King Elessar Telcontar granted to him the title of Chieftain of the _Dúnedain _and he rode far into the North and was not seen in his father's home again for many years. It was only when word reached him that his father had at last died that he returned to Gondor and many strange tales did he have to tell and was a part of.

Lastly of their children was Mírien. Indeed here was the true Jewel of Gondor! Her face was fair though stern, her hair was as dark as night, and her gray eyes held the same keenness as her mother's. It was not for these reasons alone that Eldarion came to love her in the spring of their youth. No, true to their word, her parents had taught her much about the ways of war. As much, if not more, than they had taught their sons. It was in Osgiliath that they were wed in the eightieth year of the Fourth Age and it was in Osgiliath that their own children passed their childhood.

And so Osgiliath became once more what it had been in ages passed.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

I feel like I got too frakkin' flowery. Purple prose, anyone?


	23. Epilogue Part the Third

**A.N.**

**So, here it is. Sort of. Definately not the end for my little 'verse though. **

**It is sad. You have been warned**

* * *

><p>~<em>End? No the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back and all turns to silver glass. And then you see it ... white shores and the beyond. A far green country under a swift sunrise<em>.~

Gandalf. _The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King_(film).

**Epilogue **

**Part the Third**

**Even Dragons Have Their Ending**

In the years before the all children of Boromir and Aelswyth of the North had fully grown, it was noted that the Steward of Gondor was aging while his wife was not. It was Mírien, still then a maiden of twenty-three, who first asked her mother what this meant. They were seated beneath the White Tree in the Court of the Fountain while many people went about them. It was one of those lovely visits that Aelswyth rarely got to take part in as matters in Osgiliath kept her occupied. The boys- well, they weren't really boys anymore- were off somewhere getting into some form of trouble but Aelswyth would not guess at that. Mostly she didn't want to. _They are men grown and still up to mischievous pranks_ she told herself with a gentle shake of her head.

"It is a long story, little jewel." said Aelswyth of the North as she rested her hand on her daughter's cheek. Mírien frowned though as she did not like long stories or being called _little. _She was as tall as Amathion was though two years younger. She was not _little. _Aelswyth could see the angry flush that had crept across her face and laughed softly. "Well, I cannot make it any shorter and you shall have to know it!" Aelswyth then began to recount the many tales of _Númenor _that she had been told as a child in the shattered, northern kingdom of Arnor. Mírien sat completely rapt for many long hours untill at last Aelswyth finished her tale. "... And so Elendil sailed with his sons Isildur and Anárion and few of the Elendili and they were cast here in Arda by a great wrack. It was here that the Sons of Elendil founded the Realms of Gondor and Arnor..." Aelswyth sighed heavily, suddenly full of misery at her own retelling. It did not, she felt, do the story justice at all.

"But-" Mírien began in protest, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Little jewel, the Men of _Númenor _lived much longer than any other Man. They were tall, taller than Aragorn is and were wise and noble enough though foolish and prone to bouts of pride as all Men are." Aelswyth rose to her feet and offered her hand to her daughter. "Let us find your father now; I am sure he will pleased to know you think that he is old."

"Well, he is..." the girl protested meekly as she followed her mother into the white marbled streets of Minas Tirith. Aelswyth shook her head but said nothing. She was older than Boromir and Aragorn was older than both of them put together. Years and years and years... That was all there was anymore was time and time enough.

Boromir sat on his throne much less comfortably than perhaps his father had but he was a soldier through and through, not a statesman. He would have almost preferred holding a sword in his hand again and-

"_Atheg!(_Daddy!_)_" Through and through, that girl was her father's more than anything. Aelswyth could not repress a roll of her eyes as Boromir stood and held out his arms. Mírien threw her slender arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"I had not expected you both so soon." he said and there was a gruffness in his voice but his eyes were soft as he turned to his wife now to embrace her warmly. "Oh, it is good to see you though. "Where are the lads?"

"They are lads no longer, husband." Indeed Baradion and Amathion had grown swiftly as boys so often do. They had both surpassed their father in height though only Amathion seemed to posses that air of Númenor. He stood dignified with his grim, pale face and keen, gray eyes while his brother favored his uncle's kin: all flaming hair and dark, knowing eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, they are around here... somewhere." She said, kissing his weathered brow softly. He laughed though it was cut off with a weak cough.

"Little jewel, why don't you run off and find the girls. I am sure they would like to see you again." suggested Boromir though his tone gave her little option. She seemed to pout a moment before turning on her heels quickly and sprinting off down the hallway in search of Aeriel(_holy daughter_) and Elthril(_dreamer_). He waited untill he could no longer hear her before he turned to his wife. "Mercy, I cannot shake this chill!" Without being asked, Aelswyth stoked the fire for him and pulled the curtains open to let the sunlight through.

"If you weren't sitting in the dark all day, perhaps you could." she remarked evenly though she felt her heart grow colder. He had returned to his chair but now he was staring almost defiantly back at her. _Damn those eyes_ she thought roughly though she was sure she loved him for his eyes. The corners of her grim mouth tugged upward suddenly and then she allowed her smile to spread slowly across her face. She went to him and cupped his face in her hands, his graying whiskers rough against her palms.

"This is what I get for running around with your lot for more than half my life." he muttered darkly though her smile was infectious and he found himself smiling back before long. "My head feels as though it's going to explode... My back aches like nothing I have ever felt before..." He stifled a yawned. "_And _I am always tired."

Aelswyth laughed warmly and kissed his brow. "Oh, darling." she sighed. "Why don't we take a walk and get you out of this room?" He stared back at her, still mostly defiant though smiling. "It will do you some good, love." she said after he did not budge.

"Help me up then." he growled, completely humorless. Aelswyth frowned deeply before taking his hands in hers and holding him steady while he went to his feet. She was scare sure she heard something break entirely. "Keep going or I shall never get back down again." he said after she had halted suddenly, her mind and heart racing. He chuckled softly and pushed a stray strand of obnoxiously dark hair behind her hair. "You still worry too much." he told her as they wandered now through the levels of Minas Tirith.

"Of course I do." she replied softly. "I worry about you and the children-"

"They are hardly children anymore!" he interjected, a trace of wonder in his voice. How had the years flown by them so swiftly?

"They are _our _children. Have I told you what mad plan Amathion has gotten into his thick skull?"

"He gets that from you."

"Oh, hush, if anything, that comes from your side of the family! Glorfindel lingers still and intends to go into the North to help with rebuilding-"

"All that's done now. Aragorn saw to that."

"It's not quite done in Angmar. There are still wild men around there and he wishes to see them gone before he takes a ship to the West."

"Back to that son of yours!" Boromir instructed gently, his eyes shining with mirth. They were always _hers _when they were doing something inexplicably rash or daring. They were only ever _his _when they had their sense and usually that was only ever Baradion.

"He will ride North, he says, with Glorfindel and the Twins." she said solemnly. "Damn them all! Why do they linger? Have you seen Glorfindel lately? He is wasting and if he waits much longer he will wither and fade." A bitter laugh erupted from her chest as angry tears began to trail down her face.

"He will go... when he is ready."

"Círdan will not wait much longer. He cannot."

"I know that and your son will do as he pleases. We both know that."

"It is all very well, I suppose, and he is a man grown now."

"Precisely. Let him do as he pleases and do not think of me now as my own father! I love him no less than Baradion and do not prize him below the Little Jewel but there is nothing I can give him now save for freedom to do what he will do anyway."

"I know, darling. Speak of the devil!"

Around the corner, they saw their boys and Glorfindel speaking lowly. The Elven-lord wore a sad, small smile and his eyes had gone hollow when he caught sight of Aelswyth and her husband. Amathion had the burning fire in his eyes that Boromir had seen before in Aelswyth's eyes.

"We must go now, _Tadion_(Second-Son), if you will go at all." came Glorfindel's sighing voice, a voice much like music and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"Of course, lord." said Amathion rather obediently. He mounted Asfaloth easily and swiftly. He turned his burning and bright gaze now to his parents. To them he said nothing though a playful, cheeky grin came to his face. He turned to his older brother and whispered some words quickly into his ear before spurring the elven-horse on. Glorfindel trailed behind him, his hair golden-white and glowing in the sun.

"He took my horse." Boromir said, sounding like a ill-behaved and sullen child. Baradion came trotting up to them, a familiar cheeky grin on his face. They had been born close together and were so alike sometimes it was just strange.

"He gives you both his love and apologizes for taking Asfaloth, Father, but he said he would have no other horse."

"Let him have him then. Where does he ride?" question Boromir, the cough threatening to take him once more. Aelswyth put her hand on her husband's shoulder and braced herself for the coming storm but it did not come.

"Angmar." mother and son answered in striking unison.

Boromir had a scarce few decades left to him in the end and Aelswyth only believed he hung for as long he did for Mírien and partly for herself as well. It had been only days after Mírien was bound to Eldarion that he found he could not rise from bed. Aelswyth then called for Aragorn but of course even he could not heal his old friend.

"Sickness and wounds... Those I can heal." Aragorn explained, misery marring his already careworn face. "Old age and death... I cannot fight." He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked in her eyes for a long moment. "Sit with him. Hold his hand. He needs you now more than he needs me but I will do what I can to ease his going."

"He cannot _go." she_ said weakly.

"And who are we to stop it?" he asked quickly though he could see that she was desperate and forlorn. "It his time as it will be yours and mine soon enough." he said sadly before leaving them to their final words. Baradion came next and had no words for his father for words would not be enough for him. Time was what he wanted and time was what he did not have so he stared silently and intently down in the Court of the Fountain where Eldarion was speaking to younger sister. The ten years between him did nothing to quell his complete adoration for his little sister and he could see her turn as white as the curtains he clutched in his hand. She looked as though someone had struck her and then her face turned upward and their eyes met. She looked grim and dauntless as she pulled her dark cloak about her and hurried up to their father's room.

Amathion was still in the North and Aelswyth prayed word would reach him soon but she did not think Boromir would hold out long enough to see his Second-Son. Tadion _the Last of the Elves call him and with good reason. _

Mírien lost all her resolve as she came into the room and sat at her father's bedside. She fell into the chair Aelswyth had place there and rested her head on his bed, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Boromir ran his hand through her hair but he no longer had the strength to speak. He looked at his fragmented family around him. _Little brother..._ he wondered, thinking of Faramir in the Ithilien and his middle child somewhere in the North, fighting a war that his father and his father's father had left him. _That is the only thing I have given him... _he thought sadly. His weathered hand reached up and he ran the back of it along Aelswyth's cheek.

"Say nothing; we have no use for words, you and I. I can see it all in your eyes." she murmured when he opened his mouth to say something. Truly he did not think he would be able to speak even if he _did _have something profound and grand to say. Instead he cast his wearied glance on all of them again, love shinning in his eyes, as his soul fled the boundaries of his body. Mírien choked back a cry of anguish while Baradion looked down on his father's body in grief and despair. Aelswyth, on the other hand, remained as strong and as unbreakable as though she had been carved out of stone. She had been... preparing for this eventuality and even now there was a shining and silver Elven boat waiting on the River Anduin to take his body out to sea. She would not see him entombed as some paltry reminder of her husband; it was ,she felt, not an end that would do him and the life he had led any sort of justice. No, like a warrior of old, his body would be placed in that boat and sent out to sea in the hope that he would reach the glorious and golden Western Lands of his forbearers.

The shrunken body of Boromir was placed onto a stretcher as Amathion came flying through the marbled streets of Minas Tirith on Asfaloth.

"I am too late..." he said after a long moment of silence. "_Garo hîdh nen gurth, Atheg_(Have peace in death, Father)." Amathion and his brother Baradion bore the body of their father down to the River Anduin with a great number of Men following them for all of Minas Tirith and indeed all of Gondor had loved the First-Born Son of Denethor and all mourned his passing. There on the rocky banks he was laid into an Elven-boat wearing his finest raiment. His sword was placed in his hands but it was Amathion who laid claim to the Horn of Gondor. A token, Aelswyth knew. Something to remember his father by as if his actual memories were not real enough for him.

Then both his sons waded waist deep into the water, directing the boat as delicately as they could. They both turned their keen gazes toward Aelswyth who stood next to Aragorn at the water's edge. She gave them a short nod and then the sons of Boromir did their father one last duty as they gave the boat a little push and allowed the current of the river to take it from there.

_I have hated you in your pride and your arrogance as a young man and I have loved you as a woman does with so much worry and fear. I feared in losing you when I made that Journey with the Fellowship and then I found you again on the battlefield. I have given you city so great and grand that none which will come after her will dare to be so great. I have born you three children, all of them true and honest like you. One is wed to our dearest friend's son and will sit on a throne and rule beside him. One has married for love as we did and damned all our planning. And our own Wanderer, so much like my kin and kith in the North, is patiently waiting for..._But she did not know anything of Pellil of Imladris who was waiting and withering in the Shadows of Angmar for love of Amarthion.

__Sevig i veleth nîn. Annon gur nîn angin_. You have my love. I give you my heart. Always and always will these be yours and you are waiting for me. I am coming to you, my husband, my love, my life... _She sighed sadly as her sons waded out of the water and Mírien turned now to her new husband Eldarion and wept. Aelswyth stood on the banks for along time, untill she could no longer see the lithe, silver boat, and then she returned not to Minas Tirith or to her city of Osgiliath but to the North with her Second-Son.

"Mother, do not go! Do not leave me so soon after Father has left!" her daughter had pleaded in her despair. Aelswyth touched her daughter's face, so much like her own though somehow more lovely than hers had ever been, and kissed her nose comically.

"Osgiliath is in your care now, Little Jewel. Your father won her and I have remade her. Treat her gently." she said as she turned now to her First-Son

"I forbid it." he said firmly as though he could actually stop her.

"Draw your sword, lad, and we will see how good you actually are. Take care of your sister and of your wife. The Stewardship and the White Tower are both in your hands now. Be as noble and steadfast as your father was."

Aragorn was waiting with her horse, looking more worn than ever he had. "I did not think to outlive either of you." he said quietly as he gently handed her the reins.

"It seems you will live forever but we both know why I am making for my father's home." she replied, her voice light and airy.

"I know. May death give you your peace."

"We both know it is not peace I want."

"Then may it give you your husband and all those whom you have ever given your love and those whom have returned it."

"That it will." she growled as she mounted her courser and rode out before Amathion though he caught up to her soon enough for Asfaloth was still swift and sure-footed though nearing the end of his life as well. A thousand years he had seen and a thousand tales he had told in Imladris where the grass was green and soft...

Amathion did not speak to his mother, only waited for her to speak to him. It was a long time coming in any case. They had reached the partial ruins of Imladris before she ever said a word.

"The Twins are here and Glorfindel as well but they are leaving soon, I think." she said at last.

"They are here, yes." Amathion replied tentatively. "Mother, please, heed my words! Return to Osgiliath if you will not go to Minas Tirith."

"Do not tempt to sway me. I will do as I please as I always have." She sighed heavily. "_No gelin a velthin idh raid gîn_(May your ways be golden and green). A long life to you and much laughter and joy as well. This" she said, running a hand through his graying hair "came to you much too swiftly and much too soon. _Be bloody. Be bold. Be resolute. _Be my son. Now, get to your people in Angmar and make it something great."

So, Amathion, the Second-Son, rode far into the North and did not look back.

Aelswyth did not make inside the gates of Imladris before she slipped from the saddle and fell to the ground. She clutched the cool grass beneath her, hands like claws as she screamed out in a final agony. Her heart was finally breaking; her work was done and her children grown and her husband gone. She rolled over, weeping now, and stared at the starry sky above her.

_I am coming to you, Boromir. I only hope you are waiting... _

With that final thought, her heart cleaved and her soul fled her body.

When the moon was full and high, Glorfindel and the Twins came riding out of Imladris and finally intended to make for the Gray Havens where Círdan awaited them patiently with the Last Ship to Valinor. They came upon the body of Aelswyth of the North, their much removed kinswoman, and wept bitterly for they would not again see her face nor hear her voice. Elladan knelt down beside her and saw that her cheeks were still wet and her face held the warmth of Life though it had fled from her as the quarry flees before the hunter.

"_Many will seek her out but none will find her_

_They will call for the bold woman of the North_

_And send host after host of proud men forth_

_But none shall sight her, save a dark and dancing blur_

_In the northern, starry light of the cold, evening dim._

_She walks in the shadows of Ered Nimrais_

_In the Land of Stone her soul seeks out him_

_None other will suffice or dare to entice_

_The bloody, bold Lady of the North_

_Fly, Aelswyth! Fly free and fly forth_!" lamented Elladan in the Elven tongue.

"_Namarië!_" cried Glorfindel and Elrohir in perfect unison. Glorfindel and Elrohir joined Elladan on the ground and together the three of them bore her body into the remains of Imladris. They laid her to rest before the hearth in the Hall of Fire though it had been put out long ago. They spoke no more words for Elladan had done such a job they neither Glorfindel or Elladan thought to top him.

"It is time we were going." said Elrohir after a long and silent moment.

But it was only his brother that followed him to the Havens. Glorfindel did not part with them. Instead he lingered on and went into the North in search of Amathion. He knew where to find the lad in any case. Amathion now resided in the shadow of Angmar with an odd assortment of withering Elves, stern-looking _Dunedain_, stout Dwarves and one lonely Hobbit who served as a barkeeper.

"She is gone." he stated upon seeing the blonde, boyish Elf.

"Indeed she is. I grieve for her as though she were my sister." he replied sadly as Asfaloth whickered in way of greeting.

"Why do you linger here?" Amathion asked him once they were away from the gathering.

"The same reason they do, perhaps." he said indicating toward the few remaining Elves milling about. An auburn-haired Elf-maiden looked to Amathion, her silver eyes full of adoration and torment. "Or for some other reason. I do not know _why_ but I believe there is more for me to do yet, _Tadion_."

"And the Twins-"

"-They are gone now and I must go now as well." All Amathion saw now was a golden trail of hair as Glorfindel sped away. Asfaloth huffed, almost indignant.

"Farewell, Glorfindel of Gondolin, and may the leaves of your life never die. Rest well, Mother."

None who came after her who were so bold as to walk into Mordor though she herself never set foot inside the tortured land. None who followed her ever wielded a sword so deftly in the echoing Mines of Moria. None who trailed behind her were ever bloody as she had been at the Battle of Helm's Deep. So ends the tale of Aelswyth of the North.

* * *

><p>"Wait!" said his daughter quite suddenly. "You mean... You mean tha's it?" He had no idea she was even awake.<p>

"Not exactly it, no." he answered, unable to hide the laughter in his voice. "But for now it is. I thought you were asleep anyway."

"I wasn't but I want to hear more."

"Of course, luv', of course, but you have school tomorrow, don't you?" He gave her one those looks. The sort of looks a dad will always give his daughter when he knows she's trying to get something and eventually will get what she wants. _That _look.

"Yeah, Da', I do." Her reply clearly said she wasn't happy about it. She rolled her eyes and laid down. "G'night, Da'. Luv' you."

"Luv' you more." he said, kissing her forehead.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh. Go to bed, silly girl." he said as he closed the door behind him. She waited untill she heard his footsteps fade away before she leapt up and picked up the book. She sat cross-legged on her little window and opened to the very last page. It read:

_"None who came after her who were so bold as to walk into Mordor though she herself never set foot inside the tortured land. None who followed her ever wielded a sword so deftly in the echoing Mines of Moria. None who trailed behind her were ever bloody as she had been at the Battle of Helm's Deep. So ends the tale of Aelswyth of the North."_

_He lied _she thought though she wasn't too terribly surprised. _He lied to me... again. _He was her Da' and she loved him terribly but sometimes he was rather infuriating. She shut the old book with a soft _slap _of page against page and sighed as she set it down. Suddenly there the sound of someone knocking on her window but there was no one out there. She opened it a bit and stuck her head out. She peered around and saw no one. She ducked her head back in and closed the window. When she turned around, there was a tall, slender man standing in her room. His hair was golden-white and shinning like the sun. His face was boyish though somehow timeworn and he was wearing and puckish smile. He pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shhhh." she heard as soft as a breath of wind on her ear. "Do not fear me, little one. I mean you no harm." He picked up the book she had set down and held it between his long, slender fingers. "Do you know me, little one?"

She shook her head slowly.

"You ought to. I have lingered here many long ages and have only shown myself to one other, little one. A curious little boy out playing in the hills of Malvern. _Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength_(_The Fellowship of the Ring, _Many Meetings_.) _was what he wrote of me. I have heard those words in countless tongues and seen them writ in water in the minds of many men though not the Men I knew." The blonde Elf, for it was indeed an Elf and Glorfindel of Gondolin no less, sighed deeply. "I have shown myself to you for a reason, little one. Do you know that reason?"

Again she shook her head slowly, her eyes wide and eerie in the dim light.

"You have hope. Never lose that, little one..." His voice faded away even as his image did. She saw lastly his merry eyes twinkling like stars before she saw only emptiness where he had been.

* * *

><p>"<em>For the Eldar do indeed grow older, even if slowly: the limit of their lives is the life of Arda, which though long beyond the reckoning of Men is not endless, and ages also. Moreover their body and spirit are not separate but coherent. As the weight of the years, which all their changes of desire and thought, gathers upon the spirit of the Eldar, so do the impulses and moods of their bodies change. This the Eldar mean when they speak of their spirits consuming them; they say that ere Arda ends all the Eldalie on earth will have become as spirits invisible to mortal eyes, unless they will to be seen by some among Men into whose minds they may enter directly.<em>" The Laws and Customs among the Eldar(LACE).

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><p><strong>A.N.:<strong>

Hate me for what I did to Glorfindel. Go on. Do it. I know you will. Anyway, there is more to come! Plus I just remembered I have Leola to contend with now and probably Rowenna as well. And Amathion and Pellil of Imladris. And Baradion and all the rest I've included here. Thanks for reading and stay tuned. There are sure to be some one-shots that never quite made it in and a family tree and... etc. Etc. Etc.

**XOXO**

~Waxing Slain~

As a side note, there's an allusion to Shakespeare somewhere in this chapter. It should be pretty easy to spot.


	24. An Amended Timeline!

~_Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life._~

William Faulkner

**The First Age According to the Daughter of the _**Dúnedain**_**

Telchar, a renowned Dwarven smith, forges _Angrist_, the swords _Narsil _and _Narnimwen, _and the Dragon-Helm of Dor-lómin

**Certain Events Concerning Second Age According to A Daughter of the **_**Dúnedain**_

(Let's be honest. I barely mentioned this information but I'd like to bring it up now... mostly for shits and giggles... and to be thorough... and because the possibility of a short prequel might be in order).

**500**- Sauron arises again in Middle-earth

**523- **Nilûphel is born to Adûnaphel and Nilûbên in Númenor.

**544- **Nilûphel weds Abrazimir.

**545**- Nilûphel gives birth to a son, Azruzôr.

**546- **Another son is born, Tarîkmagân.

**547-** Lastly, a daughter is born, Adûninzil. She is the direct ascendant of Aelswyth of the North.

**600 **- First Númenórean ships sail to Middle-earth. Azruzôr is on one of the ships to set sail.

**2251** - The Ringwraiths first appear.

**3319**- Ar-Pharazôn sets foot on Aman; _I amar prestar aen_... Aman and Tol Eressëa are removed from Arda and Númenor is sunk beneath the waves. The world is made round. Elendil and his sons arrive on the shores of Middle-earth with Ûrîphêr, a descendent of Adûninzil, and her husband Gimilzôr.

**3441- **Elendil and Gil**-**Galad face Sauron in hand to hand mêlée but they are both tragically slain; Isildur takes the shards of his father's sword _Narsil _and cuts the One Ring from Sauron's very finger thus destroying Sauron's physical form. In the aftermath of the War, it is the end of Noldorin realms in Middle-Earth.

**The Events of the Third Age According to A Daughter of the **_**Dúnedain**_

**2901**- Birth of Aeldir

**2907**- Birth of Amarien and Gilrean

**2911-2912**- The Year of the Fell Winter. Tharbad is wracked by floods and wolves invade the Shire.

**2930**- Arathorn (ii) becomes the Chieftain of the _Dúnedain_

**2931**- Birth of Aragorn(ii), son of Arathorn and Gilrean and Heir of Isildur.

**2933**- Death of Arathorn (ii). Killed while hunting Orcs. Gilrean and Aragorn flee to Imladris and are harbored there by Lord Elrond Half-Elven.

**March 15, 2941 **- Thorin Oakenshield meets with Gandalf the Grey at the Prancing Pony in Bree, the Quest of Erebor begins

**July, 2941 **- Bilbo Baggins obtains the One Ring; the White Council drives Sauron out of Dol Guldur October

**2941** - Esgaroth is attacked by the dragon Smaug, who is consequentially killed by Bard the Bowman; Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli, and Kíli killed at the Battle of Five Armies along with Bolg son of Azog; Dáin II Ironfoot becomes King of The Lonely Mountain; Town of Dale reestablished by Bard

**June 22, 2942 **- Bilbo Baggins returns to Bag End.

**2951** - Sauron reveals himself in Mordor. Estel, later known as Aragorn, comes of age and is told his heritage; the Corsairs of Umbar officially ally themselves with Mordor and destroy a great monument commemorating Ar-Pharazôn's victory over Sauron.

**2953** - Last meeting of the White Council. Thengel succeeds his father and becomes the sixteenth King of Rohan.

**2956** - First meeting of Gandalf the Grey and Aragorn.

**November 5, 2963- **Aelswyth is born in the shadows of **Emyn Uial**. Her father, Aeldir, leaves soon there after in a small company. They offer their services to the Steward of Gondor.

**2957-2980 **- Aragorn as _Thorongil_ serves in the armies of Rohan and of Gondor with Aeldir.

**September 22, 2968 **- Birth of Frodo Baggins

**2978 **- Birth of Boromir.

**2980 **- Arwen gives her hand in marriage to Aragorn; Both of Frodo Baggins's parent perish in a boating accident; Samwise Gamgee is born. Théoden becomes King of Rohan. While in the service of the Steward of Gondor Ecthelion (ii), Aeldir is slain and Aragorn, now as _Strider_, travels to the North once more and brings word of Aeldir to Amarien and Aelswyth. Aelswyth then makes her vow to serve the _Dúnedain _and the Son of Arathorn.

**2982** - Meriadoc Brandybuck (Merry) is born. Amarien disappears one night from and enters the realm of Gondor.

**2983** - Faramir, second-son of Denethor, is born. Aelswyth meets Bilbo out on the Road one summer day.

**2989** - Bilbo Baggins takes over guardianship of Frodo; Balin, leading a company Dwarves, attempt to recolonize Moria. Aelswyth is waylaid by a small band of roving Orcs and stumbles into Rivendell where she is housed and healed for several months.

**2990** - Peregrin Took (Pippin) is born. Aelswyth first comes across Gandalf at the Prancing Pony in Bree.

**2991** - Éomer is born. Aelswyth returns to the Last Homely House East of the Sea and in a slightly drunken state sets fire to the libraries. No books were harmed but Glorfindel began to harbor more than a grudge against the unwitting _Dúnedan._

**2992 - **Leola is born.

**2994** - The dwarf colony in Moria is destroyed and Balin is slain.

**2995** - Birth of Éowyn.

**3001** - The Eleventy-first birthday of Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo passes the One Ring onto Frodo. Aragorn and Gandalf hunt Gollum from time to time while Gandalf sets Aelswyth in Minas Tirith at the behest of Aragorn.

**3002** - Bilbo settles in Rivendell and Aelswyth goes into the service of Denethor and his sons.

**3007** - Gilrean passes away at 100 years of age.

**3008- **Gandalf comes to Minas Tirith and gathers information for Aelswyth. Boromir and Aelswyth begin their ten-year struggle to reclaim Osgiliath.

**3014** - Saruman, using Gríma, begins weaken Théoden-king.

**3017** - Gollum is released from Mordor and Aragorn tracks him down in the Dead Marshes and brings him into Mirkwood.

**3018**

The Ringwraiths are tasked with finding the One Ring.

_April 11_- Gandalf comes Hobbiton and he tells Frodo Baggins that he must take the Ring away

_July 4 _- Boromir and Aelswyth leave Osgiliath just as Sauron begins the fight for the city anew.

_July 10 _- Gandalf is imprisoned by Saruman in Orthanc

_August_- Aelswyth and Boromir reach Edoras but do not tarry. Gríma however reveals that Aelswyth carries a child. Aelswyth and Boromir wed on the Road.

_September 18 _- Gandalf escapes from Orthanc.

_September19–21 _- Gandalf is given Shadowfax when he makes it to Edoras.

_September 23 _- Frodo departs from Bag End. Aelswyth and Boromir reach Tharbad. Aelswyth is thrown from her horse and though she is not gravely injured she loses the child.

_September 30 _- Aragorn meets Frodo and the other Hobbits at the Prancing Pony.

_October 6 _- Frodo is wounded at Weathertop

_October 20 _- Frodo crosses the ford of Bruinen

_October 24_- Aelswyth and Boromir arrive at Rivendell.

_November 25 _- Council of Elrond at Rivendell. Aelswyth here offers her sword to Frodo Baggins and the Fellowship of the Ring.

**3019**

_January 25 _- The Fellowship of the Ring sets out with Aelswyth while Boromir rides for Osgiliath.

_February 15 _- Gandalf falls while fighting the Balrog.

_February 25 _- The Fellowship pass the Argonath and camp at Parth Galen. First Battle of Fords of Isen where Théodred son of Théoden is slain.

_February 26 _- The Fellowship is broken. Aelswyth, at Aragorn's urging, returns to Minas Tirith.

_February 29 _- Merry and Pippin escape the orcs and meet Treebeard. Aelswyth leaves Minas Tirith and arrives in Edoras.

_March 1 _- While seeking out Merry and Pippin, the Three Hunters meet the resurrected Gandalf the White in Fangorn Forest. They leave for Edoras while Frodo and Sam begin to trek through the Dead Marshes. Aelswyth sends Leola out to seek out the _Dúnedain _and she also sends Rowenna to Boromir in Osgiliath.

_March 2-3 _- Battle of the Hornburg at which Aelswyth is present and participates in. Boromir and Éomer arrive quite literally in the nick of time and they save the day... Yay!

_March 5 _- Rohanese army reaches Isengard.

_March 7 _- Faramir takes Frodo and Sam to Henneth Annûn.

_March 8 _- Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli enter the Paths of the Dead.

_March 9 _- Gandalf and Aelswyth arrive in Minas Tirith.

_March 15 - _The Witch-king of Angmar breaks the Gates of Minas Tirith. Gandalf the White confronts the Witch-King here. Battle of the Pelennor Fields: Théoden-King of Rohan is slain by the Witch-king and Éomer becomes the eighteenth king of Rohan. Faramir falls in battle but is not slain. He is brought back into the City. Éowyn and Merry kill the Witch-king(_I always imagine the conversation went something like this. _**Witch-king:** No man may slay me! -insert evil laughter-**Éowyn**: Behold my vagina! And then she kills him. Actually, it's all very Shakespearean but that's another theory...)**.** Aragorn, the Gray Company and the sons of Elrond and men from the southern fiefdoms of Gondor arrive in the black ships and change the course of the battle. They pwn'd! Sam and Frodo escape and journey along the Morgai. Battle under the trees in Mirkwood; second assault on Lórien. While Denethor prepares his and Faramir's pyre, Aelswyth searches for Boromir throughout Minas Tirith. Good news: Faramir lives and Minas Tirith is saved and all! Huzzah! Bad news(?): Denethor dies. Huzzah! I mean, how dreadful!

_March 18 _- The Host leaves Minas Tirith and head for the Black Gate of Mordor.

_March 25 _- The Host becomes surrounded on the Slag-hills while Frodo and Sam reach the Sammath Naur. Gollum /Sméagol seizes the One Ring and falls into the Cracks of Doom. It is sort of what he deserves but I kind of feel bad for the little bugger. The Dark Lord Sauron (apparently he's related to Voldemort) passes from Middle-earth and Barad-dûr falls. End of the War of the Ring.

_May_- Aragorn is actually and officially crowned _King Elessar Telcontar_ of the Reunited Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.

_June or July _Aragorn marries Arwen. -group _Awww_-

_September 29, 3019_- Baradion the Far-seeing is born to Aelswyth and Boromir.

_November _- Primary rebuilding on Osgiliath begins and the hobbits return to the Shire.

**3020**

_May- _Samwise Gamgee weds Rosie Cotton and they move into Bag End.

**3021**

Éomer marries Lothíriel of Dol Amroth; she is the niece of Faneuil's of Dol Amroth, making her a cousin to Faramir and Boromir. Random fact: This makes Éowyn and Éomer's children double first cousins.

_September 22, 3021 _- Bilbo marks his 131st birthday; he surpasses Old Took.

_September 29, 3021_- Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo depart for the Grey Havens and pass out of Middle-Earth.

_October 6 _- Sam returns home to Bag End.

**The Evens of the Fourth Age According to A Daughter of the Dunedain.**

(**Taking into account Shire-reckoning as well**)

**6** - Peregrin "Pippin" Took weds _Diamond of Long Cleave_. Birth of Amathion, the Second-Son of Aelswyth of the North and Boromir the Steward of Gondor. .

**9**- Birth of Mírien and her cousins Elboron (Faramir and Eowyn's son) and Elfwine (Éomer and Lothiriel's son). Birth of Eldarion Telcontar, heir of King Elessar Telcontar

**13**- Death of Paladin Took (ii) thus Pippin becomes the thirty-second Thain of the Shire. Osgiliath is completed. A Visit the Shire.

**15 - **Death of Glóin, father of Gimli.

**33**- Amathion the Second-Son rides into Arnor with Glorfindel.

**52**- Amathion is granted the title _Chieftain of the Dunedain _by King Elessar Telcontar. Baradion the Far-seeing weds Lninneth of the Riddermark.

**61** - Samwise Gamgee, being the Last Ring-bearer, departs Middle-Earth from the Gray Havens. _June 23 _Mírien and Eldarion Telcontar wed in Osgiliath.

**63**- Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, both aged 102, leave the Shire to live out the rest of their days in Gondor. Éomer dies, passing the Kingship of Rohan to his son Elfwine.

**64**- Death of Pippin and Merry. They are laid in Rath Dínen with the Kings of Gondor.

**79**- Death of Boromir in Minas Tirith. The Stewardship is passed to Baradion. Aelswyth grants Osgiliath to Mírien then she rides to Imladris before passing on.

**80- **Birth of Harding on the Hill, great grandson and heir of Samwise Gamgee. Birth of Elwen (_star maiden/ elf maiden_), daughter of Eldarion and Mirien.

**82**- Death of Faramir. Elboron assumes the Ithilien.

**91**- Birth of Cílien(_daughter of renewal) _, another daughter of Mirien and Eldarion.

**120 **- Death of Aragorn; Eldarion ascends the throne; Mirien gives birth to their first son, Arathorn (iii). Baradion retains his position still as Steward of Gondor, High Warden and Captain of the White Tower.

**121 - **Death of Arwen. Birth of Berethor, fourth and final child of Mirien and Eldarion.

Sometime during Eldarion's reign, he encountered a rebirth of Morgoth-worship.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

Here's the timeline! It took me forever to work everything out properly-ish. Next up: Leola's next chapter and my little series of one-shots... The working title is The Last Homely House East of the Sea. And a family tree but I imagine formatting would be quite difficult.


End file.
